#she is perhaps the only person living who remembers them

[sabulana]

Once again thinking about the Lost and Found department and the whole Afterlife stuff in Dead Boy Detectives.

It got a little long so...under the cut it goes.

So we know that Lost and Found deal with missing children, but who deals with adults? There must be a separate department for them, right? Why would there only be a department focusing on children when there are plenty adult ghosts hanging about as well?

Why is it called 'Lost and Found' when this usually refers to missing objects? Do the people working there see souls/children as objects? We know the Night Nurse has a certain way of thinking from the way she refers to the boys and how she acts (at least, prior to meeting Kashi) in that they must be 'naughty' or bad in some way because they refuse to cross over, without considering why that might be. She does show signs of beginning to change after meeting Kashi, (and I would have loved to see more of that in S2) but I wonder at everyone else in the department.

And for that matter, what roles are there in the department? We've seen the Night Nurse, the Notary, the assistants who follow the Night Nurse and the Principal (side note, would love to see if the boys and Crystal ever find out that she's Niko) but besides that, what actually goes on? Charles possessing Esther did set off an alert down there, but there must be other ways of tracking lost souls. They're not sitting on their hands, waiting for kids to possess the living, after all.

Also are there any men/male-shaped beings there? I only remember seeing women. And I say '-shaped beings' because we know the Night Nurse isn't human, she just looks like one. Is anyone there human or formerly human? Perhaps they're all trans-dimensional beings, who look human because that is the best way to have humans cooperate when they end up in their department. Kids aren't going to want to go with someone who looks like a monster, after all. And the Night Nurse is definitely a monster.

Also wondering if all the assistants/clerks have names or if they're referred to by role in the same way the Night Nurse etc are. I know the Night Nurse has been referred to as Asa in fics, but this is unconfirmed in canon, and is from the comics featuring the Nightmare Nurse. (I haven't seen Doom Patrol, but I know she was portrayed there, I just don't know specifics).

Next on my mind is the division of labour in L&F. The Night Nurse personally goes to collect the boys, but she's head of the department, right? Why not delegate? Does she go to collect every lost child that Death doesn't collect? Because there seems like there is probably a lot, tbh, given the world population.

How many people work in that department, and how is it all organised? Are there people tracking those that don't move on? If so, how come the Devlin family had to stay stuck in that loop for 30 years? Surely they would have been easy to find since they were in the same place the entire time.

And what about the suicide victims like Shelby, who walk the earth? Are they considered 'lost'? It seems kind of unfair that they have to just wander like that instead of getting an afterlife someplace else.

I have more thoughts but I'm typing this on mobile and gave myself a headache doing it. Anyway, the point of this is... I am about to make up a whole lot of shit about how the Afterlife works for my current WIP.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

I have no clue how this guy hasn't divorced his wife. If my partner looked at me with disgust about anything that wasn't literally disgusting, I'd be googling "divorce lawyer."

by Sam Williams

A week ago, my wife and I went to John Lewis to look at air fryers. As we entered the store, I put on an FFP3 mask because of Covid. My wife looked at me in disgust and said, “Oh, you’re wearing a mask?” I replied, “Yes. There’s a lot of Covid around, and I don’t want it. Do you?”

She responded, “Well, the trouble is, I’m not wearing a mask”.

I said, “Yes, I can see that. I wish you would. The trouble is, every time I’ve caught Covid, it’s been from you. I’m disabled with long COVID, and every time I get reinfected, it makes me really, really ill”.

So here’s my question: does my wife not care?

I want to use this piece to spark a debate about who we are as people. Are we kind and virtuous, or are we selfish and indifferent? Writing an article about what stops people from wearing masks, while I live with the pain caused by my wife not masking, feels like an oddly meta activity.

That’s right, folks: it was probably my wife who gave me Covid in the first place. Although, to be fair, neither of us knew about masking or long Covid back then.

The case for masks amid rising Covid I need people to wear masks or ensure clean air so it’s safe for me to go out—especially in healthcare settings. Yet, most people refuse. I asked my wife why she doesn’t wear a mask, and she said, “There’s no point, because nobody else does.”

I understand the futility in her statement. Many people don’t wear masks simply because they don’t care or because they think Covid is over.

If my wife were a cruel or unkind person, it would be easier to accept her refusal to wear a mask. But in my experience, even many kind people—even those on the political Left—can be cruel when it comes to disabled individuals.

Although my wife has struggled with my disability, she is generally a kind person. In my autistic brain, it seems perfectly logical that she should wear a mask to protect me from airborne viruses. Yet, logic loses when it comes to personal choices and disability.

Misconceptions about Covid and masks People think Covid is “just a cold.” Some even believe masks themselves make you ill. I think people don’t mask because of ableism and because they’ve been conditioned to associate masks with the pandemic itself.

It’s the same conditioning that leads them to blame lockdowns and vaccines for Covid, rather than recognising these measures were designed to mitigate its spread.

When people see me in a mask, they’re reminded of the acute phase of the pandemic. My presence confronts them with an uncomfortable truth: their refusal to mask contributes to the deaths and disabling of others. It reveals they may not be as caring as they like to think.

I wish more people would remember the Covid dead and choose to wear a mask to prevent further loss of life.

Why people don’t mask The biggest reason, I believe, is a failure of public health communication over wearing a mask. The government declared Covid “over,” and most people still trust what they’re told. Many would resume masking if asked, but the government is too afraid of the right-wing media and too indifferent to disability to make that request.

Then there’s the pervasive idea of “health supremacy”:

The belief that only people with pre-existing conditions get long Covid.

The notion that a “healthy” immune system can fight off the virus.

The argument that we don’t need vaccines or other preventative measures.

Some even suggest that “living your best life” and going out for brunch are more important than protecting loved ones. The low mortality rate of Covid is used as justification, with a dismissive attitude towards the elderly and those with long Covid.

Many fail to consider the quality of life endured by those with long Covid or the rising number of children affected. Parents, it seems, don’t care enough about their kids, or they’re unaware that long COVID in children has doubled in the past year.

There’s also peer pressure and groupthink. No one wants to stand out by wearing a mask. “If it were really unsafe, wouldn’t everyone else wear one? Wouldn’t the authorities tell us to mask up?”

When I do convince others to wear masks, it’s usually a flimsy surgical one—barely adequate protection.

The personal cost of not wearing a Covid mask If we continue as we are, everyone will eventually develop long Covid. Those who still mask are only delaying the inevitable because we’re so outnumbered.

I know people who’ve lost friendships and family connections over masking. Others restrict their contact with loved ones to stay safe. Some have even been lied to by family members about masking.

And all because people must have brunch.

It feels grossly unfair to be forced to choose between family and health. For me, it’s not just about Covid. With a weakened immune system, other airborne viruses are just as harmful. Every cold or similar illness sets me back by months.

The fatalist in me whispers: stop masking. If no one else is wearing a mask, why fight it – just let long Covid take me. Every reinfection only worsens my condition.

A systemic failure The government—New Labour or otherwise—has shown little interest in preventing the spread of Covid or developing treatments for long Covid. The societal denial of this reality is overwhelming.

Until we build a society and government centred on community and care instead of selfish individualism, we’re doomed. Is thinking of others really too much to ask?

If only long Covid weren’t an invisible disability. If it caused something visible—like the loss of a limb—perhaps people would be forced to act.

The point of wearing a mask: not just for Covid Here’s why masking matters:

It reduces your viral load if you get infected.

It sets a good example for others.

It shows courage and strength.

It protects vulnerable people, including the disabled, chronically ill, and immunosuppressed.

It proves you have empathy and intelligence.

[starwilliams]

my opinion on the portrayal of the PTSD representation in tlou- as someone who is diagnosed with ptsd.

trigger warning: ptsd, talks of mental health and traumatic events.

i personally think TLOU did a really good job with this. specifically what we would call a ‘ptsd attack’ during the farm.

some triggers can involve loud noises or sudden crashes (like the shovel and barn door) and in my experience, i am transported back to the traumatic experience like it is real. and im living it again, even with some details changing, like how ellie invisioned joel calling out for her, which did not really happen.

i also know there is a scene in the remastered with a boar i believe, and ellie is crawling through a tunnel and sees a skull or something and sees joel? (DO NOTTT quote me on this, as i genuinely am not sure.) but that is also realistic. my trauma involved a corpse of someone i love, and that image can pop up at any time, and it is scary!

i know many people view these scenes as things to make the game more emotional, and even scary. but these things. (even if exaggerated in game) are infact real.

again, yes. i think everybody in the tlou universe no question has trauma of their own. but pstd is different, and shows clearly in ellie. especially during seattle and afterwards.

ellie faced trauma all her life, and losing the man who helped her look past her trauma, was the biggest trauma of all, and she had nobody to stop her.

this theatre scene.

ellie shows vulnerability to dina for the first time since leaving for seattle, dina was ellie’s only real ‘clutch’ at this point. and learning of dina’s pregnancy and jesse’s arrival, wondering if maybe they will be back together, or even head back to jackson with eachother.

everything was so uncertain, ellie thought all she had to do was get revenge and take down all who were present at joel’s murder, but she began to realise it was no longer that easy.

ellie realises how far she’s gone, with torturing nora. and even seems to get maybe nauseous thinking about it? (in left pic, idk. my interpretation.) like how in the first game, ellie exclaims she feels sick after shooting a man.

being unable to draw/do justice to joel’s eyes.

there’s many different interpretations as to why ellie crossed out joel’s eyes, and tried them over and over again.

perhaps she felt she couldn’t get them right?

couldn’t do justice?

or perhaps she couldn’t look at his face, features and all without remembering it being bloodied and battered.

i still struggle to remember my loved ones face after seeing their corpse, and it took a while for the grief and trauma to heal until i remembered them in other ways too.

ellie leaving the place we would deem most peaceful.

even after some form of healing and time, ellie still struggled dearly at the farm. and once tommy had come back to remind her ‘her job was not over’ she felt guilty for feeling even a tinge of contentment in life, without getting joel justice.

het wearing and smelling joel’s jacket, wearing it as she leaves, ready to go on a suicide mission, that would either bring joel justice, or get killed along the way, which maybe she wouldn’t mind so much.

she left her home and family in hopes the voices and memories in her head would finally go quiet.

maybe she resented herself for not being able to move on, like she imagined dina was.

ellie’s acceptance.

as we all saw, ellie knew not to even hope for dina or jj at the house (maybe they reunited before this, maybe not. but this applies either way), she left joel’s guitar behind. she had realised at the beach trauma won’t heal from violence, and chasing after a cure.

sometimes even the happy memories have to be left in the past.

um guys i hope this is okay! likes and reblogs ect would be so appreciated! i wish i mentioned more of ellie’s trauma from p1, maybe another day :)

[girlfox]

thinkin' about a dying person willingly offering their memories to ahri to hold onto them as a keepsake ... to not let their life and experiences and memories be forgotten to time. i think she'd use her limited painting skills to draw the simplest but prettiest renditions of their time on runeterra ... i think it'd just mean so much to her, as a creature who once devoured these memories meaninglessly; only serving to fill her belly. as she's grown, ahri has come to appreciate all the facets of life, including human life, and the beauty written in the short, short span of their lives. of course, she doesn't care for just any and all memories ... most are shuffled into the catalogues of her mind, mixed within a thousand other memories she can hardly parse as her own or not any longer, but when a human can truly reach her heart, she does try to honor their memory.

[luckyladylily]

So a few months ago there was the discourse about would you rather meet a man or a bear in the woods. I didn't want to touch it while the discourse was hot and everyone dug in hard because those are not good conditions for nuance, but I waited until today, June 1st, for a specific reason.

I'm not going to take a position in the bear vs man debate because I don't think it matters. What is really being asked here is how afraid are you of men? Specifically, unexpected men who are, perhaps, strange.

People have a lot of very real fear of men that comes from a lot of very real places. Back when I was first transitioning in 2015 and 2016, I decided to start presenting as a woman in public even though I did not pass in the slightest.

I live in a red state. I knew other trans women who had been attacked by men, raped by men. I knew I was taking a risk by putting myself out there. I was the only visibly trans person in the area of campus I frequented, and people made sure I never forgot that. Most were harmless enough and the worst I got from them was curious stares. Others were more aggressive, even the occasional threat. I had to avoid public bathrooms, of course, and always be aware of my surroundings.

I know how frightening it is to be alone at night while a pair of men are following behind you and not knowing if they are just going in the same direction or if they want to start something - made all the worse for the constant low level threat I had been living under for over a year by just being visibly trans in a place where many are openly hostile to queer people. You have to remember, this was at the height of the first wave of bathroom law discussions, a lot of people were very angry about trans women in particular. My daily life was terrifying at times. I was never the subject of direct violence, but I knew trans women who had been.

I want you to keep all that in mind.

So man or bear is really the question "how afraid of men are you?", and the question that logically follows is "What if there was a strange man at night in a deserted parking lot?" or "What if you were alone in an elevator with a man?" or "What if you met a strange man in the woman's bathroom?"

My state recently passed an anti trans bathroom bill. The rhetoric they used was about protecting women and children from "strange men", aka trans women.

Conservatives hijack fear for their bigoted agenda.

When I first started presenting as a woman the campus apartment complex was designed for young families. The buildings were in a large square with playgrounds in the center, and there were often children playing. I quickly noticed that when I took my daughter out to play, often several children would immediately stop what they were doing and run back inside. It didn't take me long to confirm that the parents were so afraid of "the strange man who wears skirts" that their children were under strict instructions to literally run away as soon as they saw me.

"How afraid are you of a strange man being near your children?"

I mentioned above that I had to avoid public bathrooms. This was not because of men. It was because of women who were so afraid of random men that they might get violent or call someone like the police to be violent for them if I ever accidentally presented myself in a way that could be interpreted as threatening, when my mere presence could be seen as a threat. If I was in the library studying and I realized that it was just me and one other woman I would get up and leave because she might decide that stranger danger was happening.

Your fear is real. Your fear might even come from lived experiences. None of that prevents the fact that your fear can be violent. Women's fear of men is one of the driving forces of transmisogyny because it is so easy to hijack. And it isn't just trans women. Other trans people experience this, and other queer people too. Racial minorities, homeless people, neurodivergent people, disabled people.

When you uncritically engage with questions like man or bear, when you uncritically validate a culture of reactive fear, you are paving the way for conservatives and bigots to push their agenda. And that is why I waited until pride month. You cannot engage and contribute to the culture of reactive fear without contributing to queerphobia of all varieties. The sensationalist culture of reactive fear is a serious queer issue, and everyone just forgot that for a week as they argued over man or bear. I'm not saying that "man" is the right answer. I am saying that uncritically engaging with such obvious click bait trading on reactive fear is a problem. Everyone fucked up.

It is not a moral failing to experience fear, but it is a moral responsibility to keep a handle on that fear and know how it might harm others.

[on-the-clear-blue]

Dead Man's Diner pt 4

"THOSE FUCKING BITCHES SAM!" Danny shouted as he stormed into his apartment, slinging his backpack off by the door as he toes his shoes off.

Rounding the corner of the hallway, Danny was met with Tucker, shirtless with only a pair of plaid boxers on, staring at him with sleep glazed eyes, he had a box of cereal in one hand, and a bottle of oat milk in the other, raising the bottle in a salute, Tucker stuffed a handful of cereal into his mouth before taking a swig of the milk, holding up a hand to stop Danny from speaking as he chewed, only letting his hand fall before he spoke.

"What?"

"The Bats are fucking assholes!"

Tucker looked back at the bottle of oat milk, sighed and placed it back in the refrigerator, chucking the box of cereal on the counter, Tucker grabbed Danny by the shoulders.

"Of course they are Jerks Danny..." his grip tightened as he started to shake the Halfa, "I have ten deadlines and 5 missed calls, I really want to geek out right now about you meeting the local heroes but I really don't have the time, so yes, jerks, tell me about it later okay?"

Danny phased through the tough grip on his shoulders, letting out a giggle as he watched Tucker fumble as he no longer had someone to help steady himself, "I did yell specifically for Sam, Tuck so you can't get mad at me! Go huant the Wanyetech building, I know for sure those dudes are way more dead inside than I am!"

Getting a groan from his friend at his dead pun, Danny continued into the apartment, snatching Tuckers cereal box off the counter as he went to sit in the living room.

Spotting Sam typing something on a lap top, her big over the ear headphones blaring as he flops down next to her, which thankfully was enough for her to notice him.

Offering g the box of cereal to her, she sent him a tired smile as she slipped the head phones off and took some of the fruit flavored rings, "Hey there Deadstuff...how was work?"

Danny sent her a grin, "Well, Clocky decided to throw me a bone and I think I got this? He is a little bitch boy that sends me all over the place but this time it was a dined, Lunch Lady taught me how to cook." Pasuing to stuff a new handful of tasty fruity goodness, Danny spoke around the cereal in his mouth "Cookin' ish so much more cool when da food isn't trying to kill you"

Slapping Danny's arm as she rolled her "Don't eat with your mind full and tell me what got you so riled up" Sliding her laptop of her self she tucked her knees up before stretching them out over Danny, who was already going off on his story.

"Wait wait! You had Nightwing in you're restaurant and you didn't get me an autograph?" Same shot Danny a scowl, who at least had the decency to look sorry

"I was going to but they fucking dined and dashed Sam! Even when I was actively Phantom, I never, ever just left a bill!"

---

Dick knew that perhaps eating the food was a slightly bad idea, given the look B gave them when him and Tim pulled into the Cave.

He was standing there, arms crossed, thankfully cowl down, what made the sight infinitely less intimidating was Damian doing the same next to him, his head tilted to look down at them and perhaps standing on his tittpy toes a little bit.

Dick wanted to coo at the father son bonding, but remembered he had to act at least a little chastised at the moment "Yes I am sorry B, It was my decision to head in, there was no outward danger so we just took a chance."

Wincing at the gruff grunt he got from that Dick powered on, "I will write a more detailed report, but personally if anything wrong it's likely that the kid working there is Meta? I dont-"

"He can't be meta! He is very clearly a ghost Dick!" Tim interrupted already flipping through some notes he had made on the way back home, "its the only explanation...or he is a 5th dimensional Imp with a passion for cooking but I really hope not those guys suck to deal with..."

Dick nodded at that, but had to say some thing foe his own superfan imp "Nightmite is a chill dude helps sometimes with cases back in Bludhaven!"

Giving a sigh, Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose, "No mites, no metas, no ghost, go to Medbay I am running blood tests on what sweet hell you have ingested."

---

Bruce ran the test again, sure that it was wrong, praying that it was wrong.

TEST COMPLETE

TRACE LAZARUS WATERS DETECTED

Underneath was lists of chemical make ups of the samples Tim took and his sons blood, there were varying levels through out the food samples, some lighter but others were heavy on it.

What was stumping him was...it was nearly perfectly pure, the pits naturally over time get polluted, with the dirt and sediment that falls in, and with the various amounts of bodily parts and fluids that are dipped in it.

But the trace amounts Bruce was finding were a better quality than Ra's own personal pool, not the one he dips in to regain his youth that the LOA make a ritual out of, no the privet one in the Alps that was clear as glacial water.

It didn't make any sense to Bruce, who would be spreading Lazarus water around? Ra's would not simply share his secret pure stash...

Lost in thought, Bruce sat back glaring at the test results.

---

"And after I thought I was giving great service, they fucking left, no bill, no tip! I didn't even get to see Nightwings ass as he left! People say it's a godly experience! I was robbed!" Letting out a huff Danny shot Sam an incredulous look at her sudden burst of laughter. "Sa~am, this isn't funny! Never meet your heroes! I am taking this to Twitter! They shall know my fury!" His words only served to make Sam laugh even harder.

Stifling a grin Danny took out hos phone, a old busted thing that was more ducktape and prayers than actual technology, but dear go's did it still work.

<@i-haunt-spirit-holloween

[@.realwing @not-that-red-robin.real yall are toxic twinks came in to my workplace and fucking dined and dashed 0/10 Nightwing has a flat ass.]

Hitting send, Danny put his phone down, choosing to let the nights happenings go past his mind and just hang out with Sam before showering and finally going to bed.

---

Tim was hunched over his lap top, going frame by frame of his body cam footage, he *needed* to figure this out, it was like an itch in his brain that he would go through bone to get through.

His work payed off as he clicked forward another time, his feed went static before it showed a blurry blue blob in place of the diner! Proof! It was there!

Jumping at the sudden bang of his bedroom door being thrown open, Tim whirled to around to see Dicks distressed face, standing up, Tim prepared for the worst, something happened. Bruce was dead agian it had to be-

"TIMMY I AM A TWINK AM I??" Was Dicks wail as he flopped down on Tim's bed.

Letting out a shuddering sigh, Tim looked longingly at his laptop before closing it, "Dick, what the fuck."

Rolling around on the bed, Dick finally looked up at Tim "Littlewing sent me a tweet and...ugh just look!" Thrusting out his phone as he spoke

Pasuing at the mention of Jason, Tim  looked down at the screen and froze

"Holy shit...we forgot to pay didn't we...fuck Jason is never going to let us live that down."

Tim still remembered the first time he witnessed one of Jason's famous "make Bruce spend more money" rants about tipping.

It was glorious.

Tim now realized he would be one of two that was likely going to have to face it next.

"UGH?? You focus on the money and not the other parts? Tim I was called a toxic twink with no ass! This is a declaration of war! I have never been so offended!" Dick sat up, eyes narrowd while Tim opened up the tweet on his own phone.

"The comments agree Dick, I am sorry, you now have a flat ass congrats and welcome to the club" Tim said dryly, trying to go to the posters page, since it was clearly Danny who posted it.

Only the app crashed when he tried to. And again when he tried to a second time, and his web browser crashed when he tried opening it there

Tim was baffled on what was happening while Dick lemented on his bed before deciding to hack it later.

<@not-that-red-robin.real

[@i-haunt-spirit-holloween super sorry about that send me venmo and I'll pay with tip]

<@i-haunt-spirit-holloween

[@not-that-red-robin.real Fuck that face me like a coward bitch bet you wont]

<@not-that-red-robin.real

[@i-haunt-spirit-holloween...bet]

---

Somewhere in a safe house in Crime Ally, Jason let out a little giggled as he scrolled through the comments on the funniest post he had found in a while, Jason was surely going to have to speak to Timberly and Dickiebird about paying their bills but right now?

He was kicking his feet watching Dick have a public meltdown as Nightwing.

Finally, he wouldn't be the only one who had to retake the Bat Media course.

How was he supposed to know doing peace signs next to a person he just shot wasn't allowed?

[tomriddleslove]

Omg I have a THEODORE NOTT request for you

Super duper angst hurt comfort

Theo’s dad basically hurts the reader and sends her back to Theo as a warning to stay away from such mudbloods and its just heart wrenching guilt and hurt and tending to her wounds through treat

Song: Half a Man by dean lewis perhaps?

I already have.

✩Theodore Nott x Reader (request)

Summary: The one where Theo has the one person he loves the most hurt by his worst nightmare. Alternatively: He thinks he’d rather die than see you in pain.

A/N: I DID MANAGE TO DO IT BY TODAY!!! I’ll be responding to the next few requests soon. You said comfort but didn’t specify a happy ending 😺

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse, blood.

Theodore Nott never expected to fall in love.

It seemed rather bleak for him, to be honest. He didn’t have the time to think about love when he was too busy wrapped up in navigating the life he had ahead of him.

One couldn't blame him though. With his family as the only example of what love could be, he certainly didn't have a good impression.

Theodore couldn’t recall a single time when he had seen his father treat his mother with kindness or respect.

Let alone love? A truly laughable notion.

Theodore's father had not shown a single ounce of love to his wife, or Theodore. Even on that godforsaken day when Theodore had witnessed his mother die, his father had simply delivered a swift strike to his face and told him to ‘man up.’

So to put it simply, The absence of love in his family cast a shadow over his perception of relationships, making it difficult for him to fathom the idea of falling in love himself.

Then you came.

You came, and god, Theodore doesn't remember how he lived without you. It wasn’t a whirlwind love, a sort of fell fast and hard, rather you entered his life like a slow and steady rain, seeping through the foundations of Theodore's life till you had consumed them completely, crumbling them down against his own will.

It rained, and you became the quiet storm, soft yet unyielding.

Love came like the easiest thing when he met you. It wasn't foreign, or a distant concept; instead, it felt like the most natural and effortless occurrence in Theodore's life. Love with you was as simple and uncomplicated as breathing, a seamless rhythm that he hadn't known was missing until you came along.

You were more than shocked when Theodore admitted he didn’t think he could ever fall in love. The boy, who loved you as though he was born to (he argues he was), who would so tenderly kiss your forehead and hold your hand, not capable of love? The one who would leave his coat for you during the winter months and bring a spare scarf because, he knew you were stubborn, and he was worried you'd get sick, not deserving of love?

You kissed him deeply and made him swear he'd never think of that ever again.

You reminisced on Theodore like some sort of lovesick fool separated by war from their lover, though it was merely only the summer holidays. Whilst Theodore would want nothing more than to come with you, his father demanded his presence back at home. You knew little about Theodore's mother, and even less about his father. Anything leading up to a conversation about them would simply result in Theodore immediately redirecting the conversation, becoming a tad more guarded for the next day or so.

It’s not that he didn’t trust you, because he wholeheartedly did. He would place his beating heart in your hands even if you had a knife in the other, for he trusted you that much.

No, in fact, it was the very opposite. Theodore knew you, and he refused to let you ever get involved in that part of his life. He swore he would never let his father even lay his eyes on you.

He would have loved for his mother to have met you. He doesn't remember her that well, but he's sure, some sort of instinctive feeling within him, that she would have loved you.

You had been back in Hogsmeade a mere 2 days before school had started, to stockpile on some supplies for school.

Students were permitted to start returning to Hogwarts three days before school began, and you would always go back early, valuing having the near-empty castle. It meant you could settle back into a school routine comfortably, and have some time alone before school resumes.

It also gave you time to do stuff for Theodore. You didn't know much about what went on at his house, but assuming from the way he’d come back absolutely exhausted with bags under his eyes, you figured it wasn't good.

It seemed to be the same routine almost every time you'd come back - he comes over to your dorm (luckily for you, all your dormmates essentially lived in their boyfriend's dorms, as they were all friends with one another, so you had it all to yourself 99% of the time). He’d kiss you hello and wordlessly take off his shoes and jacket. You’d lie on your bed and he’d come lie on top of you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He would rest his head on your chest, the sound of your heartbeat soothing him, as he listened to you talk about your holidays till he fell asleep, feeling safe for the first time, unburdened by his worries.

He’d sleep, and you'd trace the furrow of his brow. You ached for the ability to just, alivieate him of everything he carried so close to him. But you knew that healing was a long journey, and you'd be there for him on the way.

You wander around a little bookstore, finding a book for you and Theodore to read. You paid for the copy, turning to leave the shop when you bump into a man.

You quickly offered a polite apology, even though his cold gaze and disdainful demeanour sent a chill down your spine.

Those eyes. They were oh so familiar to the very striking eyes of the boy you so loved. Come to think of it, the hair was the same too. Was this…..

"Watch where you're going, girl," he spat, his voice dripping with disdain

You clenched your jaw, swallowing the anger that threatened to surface. Keeping your composure, you replied evenly, "I apologize if I inconvenienced you, sir."

His eyes then flickered to the books in your hands, a sceptical look crossing his face. "You are a student at Hogwarts? What year?" he sneered.

You took a deep breath before responding, "Final year, sir."

Seeing an opportunity to shift the dynamics, you gestured towards Theodore's family resemblance. "You must be Theodore's father. The resemblance is striking."

His eyes narrowed, and he asked with an air of suspicion, "How do you know Theodore?"

You hesitated for a moment but decided to be honest. "We're dating."

Theodore's father raised an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and derision on his face. "Dating, are you?" he scoffed. "Tell me, girl, who are your parents? Perhaps I've heard of them."

A small smile tugs at your lips as you shake your head, responding. "I doubt you would know them. They're Muggles."

His expression darkened, and a look of pure contempt appeared on his face. "Muggles? Muggles?" He snarls, taking a step closer to you.

Theodore's father's face contorted with disgust, and his voice dripped with venom as he continued, "You, a pathetic Muggle, dare to pollute my son's bloodline? You're nothing but filth, tarnishing the Nott family name with your presence."

You felt a surge of anger and fear. This is what Theodore was trying to keep from you. That his family were prejudiced against your very existence.

Without warning, he roughly grabbed your arm, his grip tightening painfully. The pain shot through you, and you winced.

"Listen closely, Mudblood," he hissed, tightening his hold. "You're nothing more than a passing fancy for my son. If you have any sense, you'll sever ties with him before you bring further shame upon yourself."

Without a second to let you answer, he releases his grip on you, spinning on his heel as he storms out of the store. It takes you a second to recuperate and process what the fuck had just gone on before you turn and quickly dash out of the store, trying to catch a glimpse of his father. Sure enough, you spot him disappearing down a narrow alley.

Before you can stop to think, you chase after him, shouting as you do.

“Hey!” You snap, closing in on the distance.

Theodore was correct in one thing. He knew you well. And he knew that if you ever knew of his father, you’d get involved.

His father’s long black cloak billowed behind him, disappearing down a narrow alleyway that seemed to swallow his wrath. Fueled by a mixture of hurt and anger, you hurried after him, determined to address the injustice he had just unleashed.

Desperation laced your anger-fuelled shouts as you closed the distance. His brisk pace showed no signs of slowing, and as you reached out to grab his arm, the narrowness of the alley made it easy for him to turn around swiftly.

"How dare you touch me, you wretched Mudblood!" he hissed, his eyes ablaze with hatred.

Before you could react, he unleashed a hex.

It hit you with an intensity that sent a shockwave of pain radiating through your body. The force of the curse flung you backwards, and you collided with the cold stone wall, gasping for breath. A searing pain radiates throughout your body, and you cough, looking down. It was akin to some sort of slash, as though he had hit you with an invisible thing, a clean cut on your thigh, and arm. You see a drop of blood drip down onto your skirt and, dazed, bring your hand up to your face. You feel something wet, and when you pull your hand back it has a crimson red glistening on your fingertips, and-

oh.

There was a cut on your face too.

As you steadied yourself, you felt the searing pain intensify, a burning sensation spreading from the point of impact on your arm. Theodore's father approached with a malevolent satisfaction etched across his face. He looms over you, glaring down at you.

"You'd do well to heed my warning, Mudblood," he sneers, his voice low and menacing. "Stay away from my son, or next time, the consequences will be even more severe."

He cast a disdainful glance at your injured form before straightening up, his dark cloak billowing as he walked away without a second thought.

You took a deep breath, shuddering as you braced your palms against the cobblestone floor of the alleyway. You push yourself up, wincing as you try to ignore the throbbing pain in your body as you gingerly get up.

You gather your scattered belongings and look around, seeing nothing but the near-empty village. Summoning every ounce of strength, you began to limp back towards the castle, the weight of humiliation pressing down on your shoulders.

You felt exposed. The idea that Theodore had hidden such a massive thing from you, made you feel all the more humiliated.

You keep your head down and soon enough appear at Hogwarts. It doesn't give you the happiness it usually does, rather you just want to go back to your room and change, and sleep.

It was at this moment that you were rather glad that you decided to come back early, for you can only imagine the looks you'd get if it was packed full of students.

Exhausted, and simply just over it, you make your way up to the dorm. There are only two other students you spotted on the way, but they were far too busy snogging the daylights out of one another to notice you.

It reminded you of…

Theodore.

How would you face Theodore? Did you want to face Theodore?

No, you resolved, you didn’t. You couldn't comprehend keeping such a key detail from someone, let alone the person you loved. Why he did that to you, you’d never understand.

You unlock your dorm room door, dropping your bag at the door, You look up and to your utter confusion, see Theodore sitting on your bed. He looks up at you, the smile on his face very quickly replaced with a deep frown.

He gets up, and-

oh.

Never mind.

You did want to be near him.

You really wanted to be near him.

It was stupid really. You didn’t feel like crying at all, but the second you saw Theodore, that feeling very quickly resolved into the urge to bury your face into your chest, and not stop.

So you did.

Theodore's arms envelop you, and he holds you impossibly tight. He swears every sob that comes from you chips away at his being and he soothes you, rubbing your back as he holds you.

Theodore can count the number of times he's felt pure anger on one hand. Sheer rage. The type that consumes you from the inside out. Once when he was 8, and his mother passed away. He remembers hearing his father disregard the whole thing with such cruel indifference he felt as though a fire was blazing him from the inside out. As with many young wizards his age, he did not know how to control this magic.

He ended up setting fire to the library that day.

The second time, in 1st year, when Alicia Thornsby had made a cruel remark about Theodore’s home life.

“Well, my mother said that Theodore must have a horrible holiday. What, with his father being-” She starts, but she didn’t get to finish.

The teachers couldn’t comprehend under what vindication a child learnt a stinging hex strong enough to permanently mar the skin of the girl, but it was the first and last time anyone dared utter a word against Theodore.

That was the 2nd, and last time Theodore had felt unbridled rage, in his 18 years of life.

That was, until today.

Because, the sight of you, with blood on your cheek, sobbing into his chest, was enough to reignite that dormant flame of anger within Theodore.

“Who?” He manages to utter, voice strained.

You remain quiet, the silence punctuated by the occasional sniffle as you remain hidden in his chest.

He pulls back, lifting your chin. Your eyes are fixated on where the once-dried blood had washed onto his shirt, and he is fixated on you.

“Who?” He emphasises again, his eyes flickering down to the cut on your face. He runs his finger gently along the cut, and when he watches you wince he pauses, a flicker of pain crossing his face. The sight of you wincing, even at his gentle touch, shatters something within Theodore.

You hesitate before you speak, but ultimately, the words slip out of your mouth.

“Your father.”

The weight of those two words, "Your father," hung in the air, and for a moment, Theodore felt as if the very ground beneath him had crumbled.

His eyes widen momentarily, and he can't speak.

No, because there's a horrible feeling of fear, guilt, regret, perhaps a combination of all three, and it's lodged in his throat. It’s almost suffocating him, he can barely breathe, and it's constricting his airways.

The image of you, the person he held dearest, broken and bloodied, collided with the nightmare he had feared for years. He couldn't comprehend the cruelty his own flesh and blood had inflicted upon you, someone he cherished beyond measure. He speaks, and his voice is so heartbreakingly soft, a mere whisper weighed down by the burden of the truth that unfolded before him.

“I'm so, so sorry.” He utters, as though he prompted the hand that came down to hit you.

He believed he did. Because it was only by association, that you had been hurt by his father. That was why you were hurt, right?

His fault. All his fault. All his fault.

He has to take a deep breath and force himself to calm down and think.

Think.

His first priority was you. Always you. He leads you down to your bed and forces you to take a seat on the edge. You watch him as he disappears into the bathroom, reemerging with a damp washcloth in his hand. He kneels down in front of you, hesitating as he slowly lifts the hem of your skirt upwards slightly. He catches a glimpse of the gash on your thigh and that horrible feeling remerges again.

He gently wipes the cloth over the cut, leaning down to press a kiss on your skin. He mutters a few words, and with a small sharp pinch, the skin on your thigh begins to stitch up slightly. Not enough to fully heal, but to ensure it would in the future.

You don’t question how he knows exactly how to heal these wounds.

You know.

He does the same for your arm. Every second he stares at the cut, he feels his resolve shatter further and further, till he can tell whether he wants to cry or ensure the murder of his father with his own hands.

His hands come up to your face, and he lets out a shaky breath. He is ashamed to even look you in the face,

His own reflection of guilt and regret is etched into his features. He keeps his eyes focused on the task at hand, tending to the wounds inflicted upon you by the person who Theodore swore would never even set his gaze on you.

The room is filled with an anguished silence as Theodore continues his ministrations.

As he tends to your injuries, Theodore's mind is a battleground of self-recrimination. The echoes of your sobbing, the memory of your blood on his shirt, haunt him like a relentless ghost. "I'm so, so sorry," he whispers again, the words heavy with remorse as if he could somehow atone for the sins of his family.

With each stitch on your wounds, he feels the seams of his composure unravelling.

When he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, the vulnerability in his eyes is palpable. The shame he feels is evident.

You muster a weak smile, a hand coming up to cup his face. Your thumb brushes against his cheek lovingly as you speak, your voice calm.

“It's not your fault,”

He wants to cry.

It is. It is his fault.

Theodore pulls you into an embrace, holding you tightly against his chest. The warmth of his embrace is both comforting and suffocating, a paradox of love and guilt; a conflict that threatens to tear him apart.

As Theodore lies down with you, the weight of his guilt still hangs in the air. He holds you as if trying to shield you from the world. He utters words of apology, repeating the words like a mantra.

“I love you.”

But amidst the soothing cadence of his voice, there's an undercurrent of resolution. The conflict within Theodore reaches its zenith, and a painful decision emerges. He knows he can't risk his father ever hurting you again. The love he feels for you clashes with the harsh reality of his future.

Theodore's grip tightens for a moment as if trying to hold onto the fleeting moments of solace. Yet, with a heavy heart, the decision he has to make is almost clear.

“It isn't your fault. Don't apologise.” You whisper, curled into his arms.

“It is. It's all my fault. I got you involved in this,” He utters, as though the admission is poison on his tongue.

“I’m not a good person. I have a horrible family, and he’ll want me to do horrible things, and I’ll have to do them.” He admits, voice breaking.

“No, you don’t. I’m here. I love you, Theodore. I won’t ever leave, and I swear you won’t deal with that alone.” You repeat, voice laced with conviction.

“I'm beyond help. Don’t give your heart to me.” He croaks.

You lift your head up from where it was resting, eyes gazing directly into his. You remain silent for a beat, then two, before you speak.

“I already have.” You respond.

Theodore should feel relief at those words, but he doesn't. Rather, he feels sick. Because he can’t, he won't risk you getting hurt again. He kisses you and pulls you back in, laying next to one another as he wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly, if only for one last night.

Because there was only one thing Theodore could do to make sure his father would never hurt you again.

He had to leave you.

[msmysticfail]

Venus in the houses

✩Venus in the 7th house✩

Venus in the 7th care a lot about the other person, other people are a source of emotional wealth for them. They love to take care of their loved ones, always remembering everything the other person likes. They are people who need to be in a romantic relationship of some sort to feel fulfilled and happy, which is why when a relationship breaks over they can start another one soon after, which is easy for them as they have a bunch of admirers, as they are beautiful, pleasant people. Many people like them, whether romantically or not. They have trouble, however, sharing the "bad" emotions and thoughts they feel about the relanshionship they are in. They don't want fights, they don't want to discuss unpleasant things; that's why they need to develop this skill: to vocalize what's making them uncomfortable, as it can harm their relationship if they keep this desire to always try to keep things harmonious, even when things are obviously not working. This is the type of people who loves to be well-groomed, to smell good, to be fashion and beautiful. They are sociable, they are always receiving friends at home, giving dinners, going out, having a pleasant time. It's hard not to like them, they usually win you over in such a subtle and gentle way that you will generally only have good opinions about them. It's important that they stop worrying so much about what others will think of them, try to stop living in search of people's approval. If they manage to balance this approval need they will be able to shine even brighter.

✩Venus in the 8th house✩

This Venus is addicted to love, passion. They are intense, their love goes deep, when they give themselves to love, they give their soul, everything. Their love is wonderful, you will feel exclusive, this Venus's attention will be completely focused on you, which is why they are very loyal, they rarely cheat. They are possessive, when they take possession of something they will hardly let it go, but when they are finally forced to let go, they go through a complete process of catharsis, going to the bottoms of their soul, suffering pain intensely, just to emerge from the ashes after, stronger than ever, beautiful and magnetic like a phoenix. This is a Venus who receives money very easily from others, people trust them with their money. It also attracts a lot of financial investment from others, since the 8th house talks about the support that others give us, and it's very easy for them to get loans, in general. However, don't mess with this Venus, she will take revenge and come out on top. Their love is like a hidden treasure, it's precious and rare, to access it you need to surrender completely. Extremely magnetic, they know how to attract what they want. They also need constant intimate physical contact, as that's where they find their greatest source of emotional satisfaction.

✩Venus in the 9th house✩

This Venus needs freedom, for them it's very important to feel that they can act or do what pleases them without having to explain themselves or give in to the other person expectations. If they feel suffocated or trapped they'll start to distance themselves, until they are completely "free" of the other person. They love studying. They love improving their knowledge: their mind, their soul. They love getting to know other cultures, studying about them, their customs and cuisine. They have a strong desire to travel and generally their preferred destination is abroad, somewhere outside their country. This Venus points their arrow very far away, perhaps they want to date someone from outside their country, someone different, who offers challenge and mental stimulation. It's a Venus who also has many admirers, mainly for their beauty and intelligence, but they generally don't pay much attention to it, despite the fact that, if someone is intelligent enough, if someone can match their intellectual level, they will probably fall intensely in love. They have a certain tendency to idealize relationships because the ninth house talks about the field of ideas, the mental, which is why they spend more time imagining the relationship than actually experiencing it in the reality. They are usually always taking some course to complement their career or they are always traveling.

✩Venus in the 10th house✩

Here Venus shines like no other, as it has reached the highest house of the zodiac. They have a love for the beautiful, the aesthetics, they love to beautify things, whether it's a job they do, or treating others in a harmonious way. They will always deliver the best of they can, as they are very demanding of themselves. Their beauty is cold, calculated, they know exactly where they want to go and radiating their natural charm they slowly conquer everything their heart desires. They are very friendly, they really care about others, like a Venus in the 7th house. They shine in their work, winning the favor of their colleagues and the attention of their superiors; but this is also where they attract the envy of others, as they definitely do more than most of the people around them. This Venus needs to know that the path to the top is narrow and alone, so they should not let be affected when people threaten to leave them. They may find love at work, or they may love what they do very much. They know what they are doing, especially when it comes to their career and life, they don't really need advice. When they decide to love someone, that person will usually stay in their life and heart for a very, very long time, even if they eventually break up.

✩Venus in the 11th house✩

This Venus loves society and society also loves them. They are loved by a very large number of people. They are that type of person who will donate their money to charities, who will help those most in need, who will take care of street animals. They really care about the collective, about people, they will stop what they are doing just to listen when someone needs it. They care about other people's lives, what their problems are. They're very stylish, they usually have their own style and they really don't care whether it's aesthetically beautiful or not, whether it pleases others or not. They are certainly intelligent, they easily understand how society works, being able to see invisible structures and offer help in some way, always trying to improve the lives of people in their community. The only problem that can occur with this Venus is paying more attention to social issues than to the private life of their relationships, which can and will undermine the relationship itself, so it's necessary to seek balance. They love to go out, they are always on the street, almost never stopping at home. They love being in touch with art, culture, politics. It's a Venus who will love going to cafes, discussing books and talking about the community/society in general. When in love they are not so attached, they prefer to date friends, people who share some type of fraternity and camaraderie. Their loved ones cannot hold them back or try to label them in fixed, closed terms. They may not be so interested in romantic love itself, but rather the feeling of connection and understanding between two individuals.

✩Venus in the 12th house✩

This is the most introverted of the Venuses. Living in their own world, they flow through various settings and people, they do not have a fixed type. They are emotionally sensitive, with a very rich and intense personal universe. They can fall in love very easily, but generally the person they love is not available, is usually committed or cannot get involved, for whatever reasons, with the Venus in the 12th house. They usually keep their emotions to themselves. When they finally express what they feel, their emotions flow like a river, flowing with full force. Venus in this house also suffers from the danger of falling in love with people who harm them, who are toxic and abusive. They must become very aware of the type of people they surround themselves with, they need to stop idealizing such people and see them for who they truly are. Their enemies can sometimes be those they love, people can sometimes be with them just to take advantage of their kindness and love. They need to be careful with that. They give so much of themselves, their love flows like deep waters, and sometimes they don't realize they have given too much of themselves until they are already exhausted and sad. As they are very rich internally, they can and should express their inner universe, as they are very creative. Interacting with the arts, dance, photography, cinema and writing are activities that will certainly enhance and elevate this Venus to its maximum potential.

[jazjelspen]

my angel baby [part 2]

(alastor w/ angel daughter reader)

[caution: NOT PROOFREAD oh and angst hehe]

(notes: alastor joins charlie and vaggie in heaven to convince them about the hazbin hotel. angel reader physically resembles a fawn. )

[tags: @luujjvi @c-lunette @mokisano @ghostdoodlen @wildfire153 @anonymousewrites @bewitchedbymadness @thisbitchreallyneedssleep @22carolina08 @original-person]

[remember if you want to keep in touch with a particular series I write, let me know in comments or messages you want to be tagged! you will only be tagged once unless specified that you want to be tagged till the end of a particular series!]

(also once again, apologies if alastor’s last name isn’t actually altruist qwq it’ll stick till the end of this fic but I’ll try not to mention it as much)

For the first time in years, you feared being in heaven.

Not that you felt unsafe, just that you felt incredibly uncomfortable seeing your serial killer dad who's now a demon be invited to be in the place where light and goodness is it's main foundation.. even reassuring yourself that it was temporary didn't calm you down when you were flying away from him. For your own sake you even avoided where the welcoming was happening.

Ahh but.. it also didn't help that he was following you around after the show without you knowing.

After the angels had performed their song to welcome in the princess of hell, her apparent partner, and-- him.. everyone sort of went their separate ways and the visitors from below started to relax in their new yet temporary places of stay. You felt a bit of relief when you assumed Alastor would also be setting himself in to relax as well.

During heaven's performance you decided to take a breather at a local coffee shop, one where you thankfully always had a spot there where you could hide away from the huge windows of the cafe.

Although right after that, unbeknownst to you at the time, Alastor was looking for you, but obviously pretended as if he was looking for a good bite to eat.. unfortunately for him he had to behave and he couldn't eat a living walking thing until after they came back home.

Oh how bummed out he was.

You were in a far corner inside the shop, as mentioned before anyone that was able to look in through the windows wouldn't be able to see you since you were out of view. Drinking your favorite beverage that the shop offered and eating a filling snack to relax your body and mind. Safe to say you were now more in touch with your feelings and weren't overly panicked as you once were.

'Why is he here.. is he an advisor to the princess? a companion?.. some kind of servant?.. she's really young though, perhaps she's ward to him or something.. but she has her.. dad.. and I'm sure he must be alive still.. ' You thought, different theories and ideas passing by in and out your head trying to make sense of the situation.

'perhaps.. he's here to see me?..' you hoped, then scolded yourself right after,

'nono.. I can't be wanting that.. sure he raised you but he's a monster. he killed you, _____. get a grip..' you sighed deeply while massaging your temples in frustration 'even if he seemed to not.. have meant to do that. he tried to kill someone else anyway, that poor man could've died instead of you.' you tried to reason with yourself, coming to a single conclusion in the end.

Eyes glued to your drink. staring at it with intensity.

"I regret nothing." you claimed to yourself in a low mumble, not enough for anyone close to hear.

Ahh.. but you did miss him very much.. the version of him that you grew up with at least.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were in your warm and humble home with your father. It was a fairly cold night with rain dropping onto the roof of your home yet the warmth of the house seemed to make the cold seem almost cozy to you.

Your small footsteps could be heard running around the house, as your little seven year old self ran around you seemed to be giggling uncontrollably with a peculiar circular item in your hand.

"No running in the house _____, remember what I told you." Alastor exclaimed in slight irritation as he could hear you from afar while he was cleaning up the table from the dinner you two just had, he started slightly missing the times when you didn't know how to walk and when you simply just blabbered baby nonsense.. he definitely doesn't miss the sleepless nights of baby crying though.

You huffed and puffed as you then plopped the item on the sofa, it was a disk, a record. You then climbed yourself up and once your little body landed on the cushions you then picked yourself up once more to then grab the disk and turn to the small table right beside the sofa where a large phonograph rested on.

"Papa!" you exclaimed, "Papa! Music music!.." you pleaded, your little voice begging to once again turn on the music playing machine.

Alastor faintly chuckled at your little demands, amusing how such a small thing dares to command but nonetheless he found it silly at how you tried. "Yes yes my dear, I'll be right there." He then set the last few dirty dishes away to be cleaned soon since he couldn't say no to listening to some tunes before bed.

You smiled brightly as your little feet playfully tapped on the cushions, almost jumping. Noticing your developing excitement Alastor hurried over to you.

"Ah-ah-ahh, no jumping on the sofa my dear. I'm excited as well but I can't have you break your little head open, that'd be no fun at all!" Well.. that and he didn't wanna ruin his cushions, but nonetheless he cared for your wellbeing the most even if he wasn't fond of admitting it.

His hands gently took the disk from your hands, carefully setting the disk on the phonograph to have it play your favorite tunes. Once you two heard the amazing first few notes of jazz was when Alastor settled down beside you on the sofa and you started clapping in delight.

Alastor looked at you almost fondly, letting out a small huff of delight at your reactions. Your innocence seemed to be something that contained him from wanting to continue his murder spree, although his bloodlust always wins in the end, he seems to always willingly pause his life for you.

Plus, he loves jazz just as much as you do.. why would he miss out on this?

Your fit of giggles dwindled down but didn't stop, in a sudden burst of energy you jumped off the sofa and then started dancing similarly yet obviously a bit more goofy to how you've seen couples and single dancers dance in the nights of Mardi Gras or just parties your father took you when he would be invited. Your little dance moves seemed to be fiddled with confidence yet they were so off from what you were trying to attempt, nonetheless you were happy, and that's what Alastor secretly liked to see.

"Dance with me papa dance with me!" you pleaded again, your smaller hands grabbing his larger one and tugging at it, trying to get him to stand up.

"_____ darling no tugging, besides I just sat down my dear and I'm exhausted." He sighed, his constant smile always present yet he was visibly a bit tired from the day he had.

But oh how you persisted, and how darn adorable you were as a kid. "But papaaa!.. pretty please! I wanna dance how you and that singing lady did the last time we went on those big loud places!"

"Parties, dear." he corrected you, but let out a long sigh and got up. Because no matter how tired he was or how annoyed he seemed to be he didn't mind keeping you happy.

So that's what he did, he danced with you. Swinging you, twirling you around to the melody and the beat, your cheers of glee and uncontrollable laughter motived him to keep up with your excitement. Not only that but your smile, genuine and pure, it was what he needed to get himself to match your energy. Jazz music was what always connected you two and it always brought you together no matter what.

At the end of the song Alastor ended it by gently throwing you up in the air and catching you, letting you get your last giggles out. You both laughed together, your bond ever growing stronger. You truly did tame this bloodthirsty killer without even trying or knowing, of course you were too young to know.

Once the giggle frenzy ended you both finished your dancing with a long sigh, the phonograph ending it's segment. You then suddenly yawned and rested your head in the crook of his neck over his shoulder, snuggling for warmth and for a sudden need to sleep.

"Seems like my little fawn needs sleep now, almost past your bedtime young lady." Normally he'd scold you a bit more strictly as he usually did, but seeing as how you were basically ready to fall into a pile of dreams he just felt no need to do that.

"Sorries papa.. I forgot.." your little words muffled by your face hidden in his neck.

Alastor was never one for being touched, let alone hugged or snuggled. Oh but he had no right to complain, he's had you this close since you were a baby.. to him this just felt normal now.

Of course no one but you could be this close to him, you're his little girl after all.

"No need to worry, my dear." He stopped in front of your bedroom, carefully opening the door with a creak following after. With careful footsteps he walked towards your bed, pulling the blanket away to then gently place you on your cozy sheets with care.

Alastor gently moved any misplaced hairs away from your face as he then pulled your soft and warm blanket up to your neck. Your sleeping face reassuring him.

"Sweet dreams sweetheart." His usual smile softening a bit more before backing away and slowly heading towards the door of your room, lingering for a few extra seconds to take one last look at you before slowly closing the door and heading off to bed himself.

After the click of the door closing can be heard, you mumbled "Goodnight papa.." with a smile, even if in the end Alastor didn't get to hear it.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You missed him, dearly.

A weight fell on your chest, your eyes begging to form tears. You missed when you had that childhood innocence, when you didn't know what he was capable of, when he was nothing but a saint to you.

It still hurt after all these years, you thought he was a good man.. a bit strict, blunt, a bit too true to himself and definitely peculiar but.. the Alastor that raised you would never do that. Until you were obviously proven otherwise.

Oh but I guess you were too into your reminiscing that you didn't notice the background gasps and small shrieks of surprise and fear, and you didn't yet feel the eventual stares and eerie presence right in front of you.

"What don't you regret, my dear?"

You choked on your drink in surprise almost spitting it out,

that fucking radio voice again.

For heaven's sake how did he find you?? He couldn't have seen you through the windows. Did he follow you??.. did you just not notice.. Oh geez maybe getting used to having your guard down during all your years in heaven definitely didn't help with this situation.

You continued coughing on your drink, even punching your chest a bit to get that last good cough out. The radio demon pulled the chair in front of you to sit across from you, not waiting to ask permission.

To him he didn't need to, he's your father after all.

Once you calmed down you immediately avoided eye contact, only giving him a once second glance to confirm it was him in hopes your ears were playing a trick on you-- they weren't.

"How.. how'd you find me.." you mumbled in slight fear.

"Oh how would I not! Sweetheart I'm your father of course, as your father I must have those parental instincts.. I always know where you are!" he exclaimed, seemingly proud of this.

"I'm guessing those 'parental instincts' didn't kick in when you stabbed me, huh." you spat with attitude, unafraid to be rude to him with so much sin he's committed.

A sharp static sound came from him, as if in slight shock at the disrespect and comeback you gave. "Watch the attitude young lady, you're still an Altruist you know."

You scoffed, hating at how indifferent you felt about your last name.

"Not by blood though.."

"I raised you, don't forget that." he spat back, starting to get irritated.

"And because of that I owe you?"

"Yes, yes indeed! Smart girl you are."

You scoffed at his response, finally getting the guts to look at him in the face. His appearance frightened you, disgusted you even.

Is this truly the man that raised you?

"As a matter of fact, I actually don't." you crossed your arms in annoyance and a huff. Your eyes couldn't help but to slowly drift to off to the people behind him and you see fellow angels you know continue to stare in awe or fear, of course at Alastor. With all eyes on you and mostly him it made you feel a little embarrassed. You cowered down a bit and your wings went over your head and shoulders a bit as if to hide you behind a 'curtain' of sorts.

Alastor obviously noticed this, but could care less about the stares.

You sighed, "Look, Alasto--"

"I think you mean to call me 'father'." he interrupted as he obviously seemed a bit sassy about it. "Even 'dad' is just simply fine and dandy with me!"

"No, I can't," you frowned, wishing you could "I won't. Not after what you did to me, to that man that night, and to every other poor soul you hurt."

Your face slowly scrunched up in disgust "You don't deserve my forgiveness, my mercy."

In embarrassment and feeling tears want to shed you grabbed your drink and got up to walk out, before you could get past Alastor though he grabbed your wrist harshly.

"Uh-- hey.. let go--"

"I didn't mean to do what I did, my dove." His voice turned into a weird version of gentle, almost uncharacteristically gentle. "I never intended to take your life away."

He sounded genuine.

Could he?.. Would he?..

Maybe, just maybe--

"No." you spat, "Maybe you didn't mean to hurt me, but you definitely meant to hurt others. That's something I can't forgive and I'm sure your victims wouldn't neither." you glared at him, setting your foot down. "I refuse to call you my father, not until I know that you repent for your sins but knowing you I highly doubt that." You snatched your wrist away and for a slight second you stopped caring about what others thought when they'd see this "Besides, you killed me two weeks after I turned eighteen.. don't even include the years that passed since the 30s and present time so clearly you can't control me anymore old man."

But Alastor wouldn't go down that fast nor easily.

His sharp smile widened, you felt immense dread.

"Oh little one, no matter how far you are or how much you try to disown me you are forever connected to me. I made you who you are and you can try to run and fly off however long you want but in the end you're tied to me whether you like it or not. Even in death."

He seemed deathly serious with his statements so much so that you could've sworn you could see his shadow giggling and smirking in a way that seemed even worse and more than evil.

Your breath quietly hitched in fear in noticing this to the point where it even forced you to take a step back. He let out a sinister chuckle before you couldn't help but speed out of the shop and flew out.

You couldn't handle him, he was shameless when showing this side of him.. how could he be this shameless and normal?? How could he act like this and be proud about it? He killed people and doesn't regret it, you being the only exception just didn't feel right and it wasn't fair!

Not to you.

He may have been able to silently control you and vaguely manipulate you to believe he was anything but a bad person back when you were alive and young but now your eyes are wide open and so is your heart.

You have such a bad feeling about this whole thing, he was up to no good he just couldn't be-- he had to be using the princess as an excuse to do something shitty.

Good thing you had plenty of connections, if you just played your cards right...

Hey.. wasn't there something about a court meeting happening soon?

On the other hand Alastor stayed sitting there still chucking devilishly, his intentions and true feelings smeared and unclear.

With a snap of his fingers a cup of black coffee appeared and he began drinking it with a sense of casual glee and eyes closed in delight. Until he felt eyes on him, two nearby to be exact. He opened one eye to look at the angels staring at him and they both seemed like more biblically accurate angels, both having one eye and all. The radio demon shot them an evil grin.

"Oh adolescents these days, rebellious aren't they." He cackled before going back to drinking his coffee, the angels creeped out by his interaction soon scurried away from him.

The fear. He enjoyed it, just not really from you.

(thank you all who asked for part 2!! of course I had to deliver since you all really wanted it and honestly I love adding flashbacks to memories Alastor and the reader had when they were alive, makes their ending on earth just that more painful (as if it wasn't clear I love angst). Honestly I don't mind making more parts for this! If the demand is consistent and you guys still want to keep up with it I have a few ideas to keep this going! Once again thank you so much for reading!! Now I must finish writing for other stories lolllll!)

(p.s: i highly recommend listening to any mitski song while reading this I think it fits well especially with the flashback scene hehe)

[emmg]

I want Solas to go full "tragic, emotionally unavailable, disappointed stepfather who’s constantly on the verge of tears" on Rook.

Like, this man is done. He’s stuck in the Fade, possibly forever, with the person who singlehandedly derailed his ancient, meticulously planned ritual. Now, instead of pulling the god-killing lever himself, he’s got Rook, who can't even pull their shoes on without falling over.

Might as well adopt them, right? Since this is his life now.

But here’s the twist: every interaction is just Solas trauma dumping like it’s his new favorite hobby.

It’s like the entire journey is just Solas remembering how much better Lavellan was at literally everything, and Rook being forced to listen to the most tragic, histrionic commentary ever while bumbling through the apocalypse.

Rook: "So... I found this artifact we need to stop the gods—"

Solas: deep, world-weary sigh “Ah, yes, that artifact. Ellana once pulled one just like it... from a pile of bear dung. She didn't even flinch. She was so graceful, so brave. You... well, you’re holding it upside down. I... suppose that’s a start.”

Every step of the journey, Solas is spiraling deeper into a well of despair that Rook accidentally dug.

Rook: trips over nothing

Solas: eyes glistening with the weight of a thousand broken dreams "Ellana never tripped. She glided across the ground as if Mythal herself carried her. You... you fall like the world is conspiring against you. Perhaps it is."

And then there’s the constant emotional whiplash of him being both disappointed and overly dramatic, as if Rook is physically siphoning his will to live.

Rook: "So we need this rune to—"

Solas: "Ellana carved runes like they were extensions of her very soul. She would have whispered the words to the stones themselves, and they would have sung in response. But you... yes, go ahead. Scribble on the ground like a child with a crayon. I’m sure the Fade will be very impressed."

He’s so wrecked that it’s painful to watch, and yet... he’s the one who dumped her. Solas is out here, pouring his heart out about Ellana like he didn’t personally decide to break up with her to pursue his ancient, god-killing, megalomaniacal goals. It’s like watching a Shakespearean tragedy unfold, but the tragedy is just… him.

Rook: "So... do we take this path or the other—"

Solas: staring longingly into the void "Ellana would have known. Instinctively. She always knew which path to take. But you... sigh... you stand there, confused, as if the very concept of a 'left turn' is foreign to you. How... fitting."

Rook: "It’s literally just a left or right choice—"

Solas: voice cracking "Ellana would have chosen left. She would have led us... together. But no. Now I must follow you. Into the unknown. Alone. Forever."

He’s not even trying to hide the fact that he’s emotionally wrecked. Every single time he mentions Lavellan, it’s like watching someone recite their own tragic poetry at an open mic night—except the mic is the only thing keeping him from sobbing.

Rook: “So we just need to—”

Solas: cutting them off “Ellana once saved an entire village using only her wit and a single lockpick. And now, here we are. Together. Alone. In the Fade. It’s fine. I’m... fine.”

Rook: quietly “Are you though?”

[tossawary]

The visible camp and sleeping setups in Baldur's Gate 3 make no sense for many reasons, but the one I'm focused on now is... where did all of this stuff COME from?

Presumably there's some in-universe explanation about fully furnished tents that you can summon or a magical bag or whatever, but I don't particularly care, honestly. Handwaving the exact mechanics in favor of fun fic ideas.

It doesn't make much sense for all of the characters to have even magical camping gear at the ready, especially at the beginning of the game: Lae'zel was part of a larger force and may not have been in charge of supplies in any fashion, and Astarion is a city boy. As far as I can remember and understand it, Gale and Shadowheart are the magical ones, and Shadowheart is the only one between them who was actually intentionally traveling on a quest. Wyll and Karlach having camping gear, yes, I buy that (although it easily could have been wrecked by or lost during all the shit that they've been through), but you also meet them both a little later than the others.

It is FAR funnier to me to imagine the party, post-crash at the beginning, being absolutely WRECKED. Everyone is covered in mind flayer ship slime, blood, and ash. Shadowheart's eyeliner is dripping down her face and there are guts in her hair. Astarion when you first meet him is a MESS who tried to fix himself up after tripping into a river. Lae'zel is missing half her clothes, perhaps, due to the fighting on the ship earlier, and she's making the awkwardness everyone else's problem.

They have no food (Lae'zel suggested cannibalism as a joke, but no one could tell that it was a joke) and one water skin. Their armor and weapons are damaged or stolen. Everyone is resigned to sleeping in the dirt, because the only other option is sharing Shadowheart's ONE single-person tent and bedroll between them all. A cuddle pile seems like a potentially deadly option.

And then they all meet Gale. And I know that he's Mr. Stay In My House For A Year Post-Break-Up, so he doesn't really seem like a camping guy, but it's really funny to me to imagine everyone being Not Very Happy to have Gale joining them (his robes are actually cleanish somehow, what the fuck, that's not fair, fucking wizards), until he starts summoning plush furniture and cooking pots out of some pocket dimension and heating water for people so they can wash their hair. And he COOKS. Holy shit. Everyone's favorite party member immediately.

Yes, it is revealed later on all of the (possibly dubiously real) tents and luxurious cushions and blankets and mirrors and atmospheric magical torches that Gale is summoning WERE all part of former magical romantic fuck-pads from his days with Mystra, so there is a non-zero chance that Gale fucked or got fucked by a goddess on every single piece of furniture in the camp. ("They're CLEAN!" Gale insists. "I WASHED THEM.") But at that point no one is willing to give up their throw pillows or sexy furs or the bathtub that could fit two people, so they all just live with it.

[animeyanderelover]

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional thoughts, clinginess, stalking, manipulation, male reader

Tags: @jamayah @chxxz @leveyani @cynniical @shenryu-sama

Zoldyck family with Gojo-like older twin of Illumi

Zeno Zoldyck

🐲​You'd think that as one of the oldest members of the Zoldyck family, Zeno would act his role as the strict grandfather and drill into you every lesson you need to know as the future head of the family. Instead he has taken the complete opposite role and has settled into being the chill granddad for it is his son's role to lecture you in everything you need to know, not his. Most of the time he spends with you is more comparable to him just hanging out with you, unless he notices that you are slacking off in which case he will show you why despite his age he is still a feared assassin in the world. There are constant jokes thrown back and forth between you two as both of you try to see who can deliver verbally the bigger blow whilst both of you take it without a single grain of salt. Even during missions both of you have together, you tend to see who has the better one-liners all whilst being completely indifferent to the screaming and terrified targets. Silva has voiced his disdain as he thinks that Zeno is being too soft yet Zeno has always stood up. He's a proud grandfather so just let him do what he wants to do with his favorite grandchild. After all your very first word ever was "grandpa", how could he not love you?

Silva Zoldyck

🐺​For all the respect he holds for his own father, the old man is giving him a headache with the way he treats you, his heir. Silva claims most of your time, either training you or teaching you everything you need to know as the next head of the clan. You are his entire pride and he has high expectations for you which he is confident you will live up to. There is especially much time poured into helping you honing your special Nen-abilities of the Infinity and your Six Eyes, skills which he is proud that you have gotten as it only further solidifies you as one of the strongest members of the family. He's aware of the fact that you favor your grandfather though and he knows that Zeno often sneaks away with you because he wants to spend time with you and the GIF I've used is probably the exact same expression he gives the two of you when he catches you. Is he perhaps a tad bit jealous that you favor your grandfather over your own dad? Perhaps, he is rather possessive after all but he would never admit that though his suffocating aura is already indicator enough of his feelings. He's most likely never gotten fully over it that your first word wasn't "dada" and Zeno has never let him forget it either.

Kikyo Zoldyck

🔺​Kikyo has a terrible streak of jealousy and that isn't made better by the fact that Silva and Zeno steal so much of your time for themselves. As a result she is all the more smothering and clingy the moment you are by yourself as she seems to wait for you to be alone like a starved predator and pounces on you the moment neither of the two men are around. This woman is always complimenting you for everything. For your talents, your strength, your caring personality, your looks and whatever else you can think of. There is a tinge of bittersweet melancholy though as she sometimes mourns the time where you were chubby and small and came always stumbling towards her with a happy look on your face. Her little bird has left the nest far too quickly and has grown so independent.... Your kind and caring personality can be easily a trigger of her jealousy though whenever you pay attention to one of your siblings or can't spend time with her since you have promised someone else already that you'd be with them. She always makes a huge clamour whenever the topic of potential partners is involved as no one in her eyes could be worthy of her beautiful baby boy.

Illumi Zoldyck

🤎​For as long as Illumi can remember, you two have always been together. You complete him, he completes you. After all both of you have been sharing the same womb, have shared everything since the very moment the two of you were conceived. It is this mindset that has always pushed Illumi to be surprisingly clingy, your silent shadow that has been trailing behind you ever since the two of you could crawl. From all of his siblings he has always thought that he deserves you the most, perhaps even more than the entirety of the Zoldyck family as the both of you share a special connection as twins. He's casually thrown needles into people's heads when they so much as dared to question whether the two of you are really twins as your appearances are like night and day, silently enraged whenever someone would do as much as doubt just how close the two of you are. He's the one seeking you out even quicker than Kikyo when neither Silva nor Zeno are in sight and likes to whisk you somewhere where he can have the time with you he thinks he deserves more than anyone else. He's tried to scare some of his other siblings away whenever he thought that they were stealing you away from him.

Milluki Zoldyck

💻​Going back to Illumi bullying his siblings whenever they also try to get your time, poor Milluki is the one who gets the most of it, though Milluki has used this fact often to play the victim card to try to coax you into spending more time with him. Activities with Milluki contain munching on snacks whilst playing some video games or watching some Anime and with passing years this guy has installed an entire security system to make sure that no one disturbs him when he has you, his older brother with him in the room. The ony time where he has gotten too scared and let someone in his room is when either Zeno or Silva knock on his door as he knows fully well that they'll break it if he doesn't open it within 3 seconds. Whenever he has managed to make you promise to spend an evening with you, he buys tons of your favorite snacks and prepares your favorite movies, games and series so that everything is to your liking and so that he can hopefully become your favorite sibling. He's even made a phone specifically for you and gifted it to you on your birthday. There are a lot of special apps and features included on the phone, one of them being a very secretive tracker which allows him to always know your location.

Killua Zoldyck

🪀​Killua has been clinging to you since he was a toddler and that hasn't changed much over the years. Seemingly adapting to the strategies of Zeno, Killua is always sneaky when he seeks you out and beckons you to follow him and spend time with him. He's probably one of the few who is willing to share his time with you together with some of his other siblings which is pretty much only Alluka. You've always indulged him though, knowing that there was a certain pressure on him due to his white hair and blue eyes as well. Killua has taken some pride in his appearance though, mainly because people not associated with his family always instantly acknowledged him as your younger brother whilst such recognition wasn't as granted with people like Illumi or Milluki which causes him to act somewhat smug in such given situations. Both of you have a sweet tooth and whenever one of you is on a mission, it has become a sacred ritual that the person buys something sweet before heading home again to share it with the other. The poor boy was heartbroken when you couldn't come with him when he took his Hunter Exam, though you strongly spoke up for him when people like Kikyo were hesitant to let him go.

Alluka Zoldyck

💝​Whereas almost the entire rest of the family has always shunned Alluka, Killua and you were the only ones willingly spending time with her and playing with her. As a result Alluka as well as Nanika genuinely view the two of you as the only people both of them need and really love and Nanika especially grants the both of you free wishes. Okay, maybe not always free. At times there are demands for you such as wanting a piggyback from you, wanting a kiss on the cheek or wanting to be lifted up and spun around by you. Whenever you hear such words coming out of Alluka's mouth you instantly know that both of them want your affection and attention in that moment and you have never been able to deny them their requests, even if you have never used the wishes you were granted in return for something sinister. The room Alluka is kept in is filled with plushies and prettily designed because you demanded it to be that way and whenever Alluka or Nanika want the walls to be painted a different colour or desire a new plushie, you always take it upon yourself to fulfill them their wish and Killua gives you a helping hand for the majority of the time.

Kalluto Zoldyck

🏮​Kallluto has arguably got the worst luck as he is the youngest member of the family and often is brushed over by all of his other siblings who deem that he should wait for his turn. The poor boy is a professional stalker even from a young age as he has spend countless hours watching other members of the family having fun with you all whilst he is deprived of it. He plays the even bigger victim card than Milluki for such reasons in the very moment you call out to him and spend time with him. Whenever you two walk around, he either clings to the sleeves of your clothes or even manages to hold your hand, his head constantly tilted so that he can look at you with sparkling eyes. The insecurities he sometimes feels as a result of being somewhat overlooked as the entire household revolves around you is something he learns to use effectively as an advantage when he wants to steal your attention away from someone else because he knows you'll crouch down and ask him if everything is alright the moment he starts fidgeting around with his fingers and makes himself small. As you are the person he idolises and looks up to, he ends up adapting your likes and dislikes all to feel closer to you.

[neiptune]

this town is fake but you're the real thing

cw: 11k wc, female reader, social media relationship, suna downloads an app that randomly matches anonymous users with each other because osamu thinks it'll help him open up more, strangers to lovers, romance, pining, so much texting, suna is as emotionally constipated as it gets

Against all expectations, it’s Osamu who managed to get under his skin.

An innocent night out to celebrate the new Onigiri Miya branch in Shizuoka, a few beers shared on a bench by the port, what started as innocent conversation about each other’s dating life soon turning into a painfully precise evaluation of why he can’t seem to find someone worth keeping around.

“You don’t really open up to them”, his friend shrugged.

“I open up to them plenty. I’ve been with Yuki for three months”, Suna refuted such harsh remark with a scowl.

“Yeah”, Samu mused, “have you ever shared anything about your friends and family? What’s the most vulnerable thought or feeling you discussed?”.

Rintaro took a moment to reflect, begrudging silence weighing more each second spent quiet.

“She met Motoya”.

Osamu rolled his eyes, “Shit, you’re right— can’t believe ya didn’t propose. Meeting Komori’s the real deal”.

“You know, if I wanted to hang out with the twin who’d be a pain in my ass, I would’ve called your brother”.

With a snort and a handsome grin, Osamu lightly bumped his shoulder against Suna’s. “Ya love us”, then his gaze softened as he took a swig from the bottle, “I’m just sayin’. Maybe a relationship is not what you need right now”.

“Then what do I need?”, despite a fiery remonstrance, Rintaro found himself leaning onto Osamu’s judgement. He’d always been very good at reading people, much like his brother, but Samu’s approach was always balanced and, most importantly, sincere. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps there was something he’s missing about himself, something that shined bright for his best friend to catch instead.

“A connection, dumbass”, Osamu lightly pat his shoulder, “it doesn’t have to be romantic. It definitely doesn’t have to be sexual. You need to find someone you can talk to”.

“I talk—”

“Someone who isn’t us. Not me, not ‘Tsumu”, he ignored Rintaro’s indignant scoff, “not Shinsuke, not Aran. You need to get out of your comfort zone with someone new. A stranger!”.

“A stranger? You want me to stop someone on the street and casually ask them to listen to whatever trauma is tied to my fear of flying?”.

“Start small”, Osamu’s eyes glinted with the excitement that a good idea usually brings, “try that app Bokuto was trying so hard to get Sakusa to download. Matchpal, was it?”.

“Sounds like a great way to have a fifty year old creep flash me with a dick pic. No, thank you”.

“I’d think about it. Ya know, we’re not getting any younger. Like ‘Tsumu said, you—”

“I should hurry up before I grow old with only my emotional unavailability to keep me company, I remember”, Rintaro finished his beer with a grimace. Osamu chuckled, eventually dropped the topic, but the suggestion remained unpleasantly hanging over his head both like a succulent fruit and a risky presage.

So now he’s slumped in the living room of the spacious apartment the EJP provides, a quiet Friday evening spent cooking some stew for dinner and facetiming his family. The tv is on as a distraction and an easy way out should things get uncomfortable. Surely Dwight will keep him grounded.

Suna’s already downloaded the app but it takes one episode and a half to muster the courage to actually tap on it. 

The interface is pretty easy to navigate. It seems he’s supposed to create a minimalist profile first and then he’d be free to start a new, random chat. Users can opt out anytime or, if they wish to keep a specific person as their anonymous match, add them as a friend and pin the conversation within their personal directory. Nothing too complicated.

Suna’s patience wears thin easily and after a few attempts at picking unavailable usernames, he settles for crysnoopy. Finally, original enough at last.

Since not revealing one’s identity seems to be the point of the entire thing, he can’t upload a profile picture and instead has to select one random avatar from the default library. He picks a cartoon frog with big eyes and no mouth on a light green background.

There he is, an anonymous online presence on a stupid app. His profile only contains a nickname, he/him pronouns, age and a cute icon. No interests listed, no boundaries, not a single space where he could leave a polite note— please don’t send unsolicited dick pics. Not that he ever plans on requesting one.

Suna starts a few new chats, faceless identities either ending the conversation right away upon his dry and unoriginal hey or being as odd as one would imagine strangers in an anonymous community could be.

Lavenderhaze

-> Hi.

Lavenderhaze

-> How are you?

He sinks deeper into the nice couch pillows Atsumu forced him to get.

crysnoopy

-> hey. all good, wbu?

Lavenderhaze

-> Good, bored.

Lavenderhaze

-> Should we exchange nudes or something?

Rintaro sighs. Hesitation is laced into the delay of his thumb but eventually he taps the skip option, Osamu’s ominous words still ringing loud and clear in his head. It’s not what he downloaded the dumb app for, it’s not what he needs right now. Fuck, maybe he really should’ve called Atsumu instead.

A new chat opens after a short loading time and his nose wrinkles when he realizes that he’ll probably have to send the first message this time. The username staring back at him is original enough to make Suna take a few seconds to think of something equally entertaining to say. The whole thing is never going to work if he doesn’t take it seriously and actually puts some effort in it, right?

He looks up from his phone for a second. Then, a loud ping makes him jump.

Unfinishedusernam

-> When you shower, do you actively wash your legs or just let soapy water rinse down on them?

Rintaro almost huffs out a laugh. Original username and approach? A good enough start to ignite the hope of finally be talking to someone sane.

crysnoopy

-> I don’t shower.

A beat passes, then the small animation of a hand idly scribbling with a pencil indicates that you’re typing something back.

Unfinishedusernam

-> That’s hot.

-> Why the username?

Suna’s lips twitch, not a smile but almost. He wants to type an equally sarcastic reply, brush the question off and maybe ask something more interesting instead. But then he remembers what he’s doing and forces an honest reply out of his fingers.

crysnoopy

-> my little sister used to scream like an eagle when she cried, the one thing that always shut her up was a snoopy plush I won at the arcade.

Suna barely registers that his leg starts bouncing lightly as he watches the little hand appear on the screen once more.

Unfinishedusernam

-> I’m glad it’s something cute :)

-> Lowkey thought you were an incel

This time he really does snort out half a laugh.

crysnoopy

-> if I was I would’ve asked why your username is edging me.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Fair. So… you do shower, right?

crysnoopy

-> I promise I do.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Damn, my incel detector has truly failed me.

-> You seem suspiciously normal btw, I feel like we could have a conversation that doesn't involve dicks

Suna’s hand blindly reaches for the remote to lower the volume of the show he currently doesn’t seem to need as additional emotional support.

crysnoopy

-> likewise. wanna make it official?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Jeez, at least buy me dinner first

Rintaro’s beat to it, before he can even click on the option there’s already a colorful notification popping up on his screen, informing that he has a new friend request.

He accepts it.

It took some convincing for Samu to agree but, eventually, the spot on the pull-out couch became his. Between Hyogo and Shizuoka, with imminent plans of further expanding in Tokyo, he’s always travelling to make sure the shops are keeping their top quality standard high. The Shizuoka branch is still too recent for him to retreat back to his hometown for good, so he’s there most of the time. Suna had to call him an idiot a million times before Osamu accepted his hospitality, never one to ask for anything, always first in line to help others instead. Suna thinks he still didn’t call him an idiot enough times.

They’re both gone most of the day anyway, between the restaurant and training. The season is about to start and the trip to Osaka feels more imminent than ever, Suna knows he has to be at the top of his game to perform exactly how he’s expected to. Which means, no distractions. He does a good job at avoiding those, dating apps left unopened and the way home now shorter than usual, to circumvent his favorite bakery. Those blueberry muffins will have to wait. Samu’s healthier alternative with gram oats and bananas is one hell of a substitute anyway.

Suna loves his friend, he really does. The house feels less empty when he’s around and there’s always a homemade meal tucked somewhere in the fridge. They share breakfast when they get up at the same time and night conversations at the kitchen table if Rintaro manages to stay awake late enough to wait for Osamu to be back.

But sometimes, being alone is easier. No explanations owed for the one distraction he seems unable to give up, no curious raise of the eyebrows he’d have to confront when the familiar ping from his phone prompts an immediate reaction the wrong twin would tease him endlessly for.

He’s always been a dry texter or so his friends, teammates and relatives have always told him. Suna didn’t ever think he was supposed to make an effort to become better at written communication, or communication in general. But now, there’s you. A faceless, perhaps not entirely sane someone who makes him check his notifications way too often, insides spasming when the message doesn’t come from one of his groupchats and the Matchpal icon flashes across the screen instead.

Suna likes talking to you, so much that he often finds himself being the one to text first. It’s okay if you’ll take hours to get back to him sometimes, he knows for certain that the message is eventually going to light up his screen and that’s enough to make him smile. Sometimes you text first, at either ungodly hours in the middle of the night or during the day, if you’re bored at work. He doesn’t know what your job is, you don’t know precisely what Suna does either because, again, anonymity. The only detail he’s familiar with is that you’re often around “wearing but rewarding humans”, as you’d once put it. The one thing you know about him is that he’s an athlete, something you had briefly teased him for.

When he’s not talking to you, when parts or even the entirety of days that used to belong to him and his routine alone are devoid of your messages, Suna finds himself thinking. Or rather, imagining. There’s a lot he doesn’t know and he refuses to overwhelm you with questions, therefore his mind desperately tries to fill in the gaps to no avail. Are you spending the evening reading a book, watching a tv show? Did you cook dinner or order takeout? How happy are you that it’s been raining for three days straight on a scale of ‘I can only function if it’s sunny and bright’ to ‘leave me in a storm and watch me flourish’ ?

Most times, Suna simply plugs the charging cable into is phone, switches off the bedside light and hopes to wake up to one of your texts. They seem to be making an increasingly dangerous difference between a good day and a bad one. He’s not entirely sure it’s ideal.

Unfinishedusernam

-> The humans are testing me today. Whatever you’re doing, I hope you’re having fun!

-> Ah, look what my mom baked yesterday. Told her I have a friend who’d love these :)

-> [IMG_65209]

Rintaro, elbows resting on his knees and towel haphazardly thrown around the neck, smiles at the screen. God, he hasn’t had a blueberry muffin in over a month, but what he’s really focusing on is that you’ve mentioned him. To your mom. There’s a low, static buzz in his ears now, punctuated by the thumps of his heart growing louder. It makes you feel more real, it also makes something simmer in his stomach.

crysnoopy

-> I’m at training.

-> They look really good. Send me one immediately. How was family dinner?

He’s enabled auto-capitalization for the first time in his life, for god’s sake. The Inarizaki groupchat was so disturbed Atsumu decided to apply the same additional authenticator method used by his online banking and forced Suna to reply to a secret question. One only the real Suna would know the answer to.

He successfully demonstrated the needed personal knowledge concerning the color of Aran’s lucky underwear in high school and thus confirmed his identity.

Unfinishedusernam

-> It was nice! I love spending time with them

-> How’s training?

Rintaro finds himself wanting to give his identity shape too. It’s the first time he’s seen your hand, holding that tupperware underneath the dim light of your mom’s kitchen. He wants to feel more real for you, too.

He snaps a picture of his hand holding a half-empty water bottle, careful to hide his shoes. Not that you’d be able to immediately tell he plays volleyball from those, but just in case. You do get to see part of his legs though, shorts and their very recognizable colors kept out of frame.

crysnoopy

-> [IMG_65209]

-> Almost done, very tired

He watches as the little hand scribbles, then stops. It resumes the writing, then stops once more. His leg is bouncing again, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He straight up jumps when, suddenly, someone loudly falls on the empty spot next to him and the bench creaks.

“We’re on a roll today, my blocks are almost as good as yours”, Washio grins, temples shining with sweat. He briefly glances down at the phone Suna almost drops when it vibrates against his palm.

“You okay?”.

“Yes”, Rintaro clears his throat, makes a show of shoving the phone right back into his bag, “you’re in shape today. Motoya too”.

“Ready for Osaka!”, Komori fist-bumps Tatsuki right before sitting next to him with an exaggerated groan, “hey, is your friend still in town? The Miya twin. We could go out tonight, get some drinks”.

“We literally leave in three days”, Suna’s fist lightly lands on his teammate’s head.

“Mocktails”, Motoya sticks his tongue out.

“I feel like I already see your faces enough. And I’m about to see them even more”.

“Rintaro don’t be a grumpy asshole, challenge once again failed”, Tatsuki rolls his eyes, “you’re always glued to that damn phone when you’re not playin’. Let’s go out, have fun, possibly get laid?”.

Suna sighs heavily. “Fine. I wanted to visit Samu’s new shop anyway, we can have dinner and take him with us afterwards”. He should get Osamu a gift, a nice plant or a maneki-neko. He’ll stop by a few shops on the way home, he decides.

“Now you’re talking!”, Washio smacks his shoulder with way too much energy, “let’s ask Nagito too, he’s gonna love some free onigiri!”.

“Hey, we’re payin’ for those”.

“Sure we are!”.

“I’m serious, you ass—”

“That’s enough gossiping, boys. Get back to work!”, by muscle memory, their legs react to coach’s boisterous voice and all three men jump up from their seats. Suna spends the rest of the late afternoon training thinking about the text message hidden in his gym bag.

It’s way past 6PM when training ends, the last half an hour was spent studying opponent videos and then simulating different match scenarios. Suna’s brain feels fried and on any other day he’d be so ready to get a massage, eat a well-balanced dinner and melt on his couch in front of a good tv show until his eyelids would grow heavy.

Instead, he takes the long way home, legs heavy as he explores different shops in search for the perfect gift. He settles for a very beautiful, handmade, porcelain maneki-neko, left paw raised instead of the right one because Suna knows Osamu will always care about having more customers who trust his restaurant rather than having more money.

The shop owner puts the gift in an elegant box and seals the bag with a delicate ribbon, he thanks the old lady with a deep bow and despite his limbs feeling heavy with fatigue, as he breathes in the cool air of the evening, Suna is content. He thinks of the message sitting pretty in his pocket as he heads home.

Unfinishedusernam

-> You have really nice hands

He didn’t open it, not yet. It’s reassuring to have the notification sitting there, untouched and polished against his lockscreen.

It shouldn’t matter that a stranger on an app is complimenting his hands, it really shouldn’t. Then why does it, somehow? Suna is happy you find his hands nice, which feels like a recipe for disaster. As he walks past his favorite bakery, he remembers you mentioning how you enjoy grabbing croissants for breakfast at times. When he told you that he was about to leave for a retreat with his team, after asking if their destination was one among Tokyo, Osaka and Yokohama, you proceeded to list all your favorite cafes, bakeries and restaurants for each of them. Just in case he had the time and wanted to check them out. As much as he tries to keep his distance, something as trivial as mentioning the correct city possibly resulting too risky, you always seem to go out of your way to reach closer. Taking the time to prepare three separate lists of suggestions while simultaneously respecting his boundaries is an effort he deems… unexpected. It feels weird in the best way. He almost wants to tell you it’s Osaka after all, give you something real, something new to hold on to. Maybe he’ll even tell you it’s volleyball.

“Coming home from another bad date?”, the unexpected quip startles Suna as he looks up from the sidewalk to find his not so friendly neighbor directing a saccharine smile at him, trash bags in hand. Not too long ago, he would’ve asked if she needed help with those.

“At least I still go on dates”, he purposefully eyes her attire, hoodie and sweatpants. Suna knows she’s just trying to annoy him, she can see the gym bag.

“With women who are blind, deaf, mute and desperate?”, she offers a sly smile and he rolls his eyes.

“That’s not a very flattering description of yourself, now”.

She huffs out a sarcastic laugh but Suna can see right through it: the irritation and the embarrassment.

“Always a pleasure running into you, Suna”.

“Likewise”, he smirks, “careful with those bags”.

Suna says goodbye with an unbothered wave of the hand despite her giving him the finger, positively happy that for a good while the chances of running into his neighbor will be reduced to zero. Osaka can’t come fast enough.

The thing is, he was surprised she lived so close when they first started chatting on a regular dating app. When Suna confirmed they were essentially in the same neighborhood, she was the one to propose a dinner right away.

Truthfully, it had been a bad day for him, for a number of reasons. Training was terrible, he was worried sick about his little sister’s sprained ankle, his own tendinitis was giving him hell and Atsumu had decided to call him to talk his ear off for an entire hour about the surprise party they were supposed to throw for Kita’s birthday. Yet, he didn’t feel like bailing on his date, so he forced himself out of the house with the worst mood.

Dinner was terrible. Awkward, tense, her growing increasingly impatient about his lack of responsiveness, him snapping at the tiniest, dumbest inputs. The entire night ended up being such a disaster she left halfway through her creamy salmon pasta, a few banknotes tucked underneath a glass of water, enough to pay half the bill. He remembers deflating in his seat, feeling terrible for five minutes, finishing his own dinner and then leaving as if nothing happened.

Suna thought about texting, maybe even apologizing, but he just never found it in himself to actually do it. It was just a bad date, bad dates happen. He’d never seen her before, or maybe simply didn’t pay enough attention to notice her presence, so there was no way he could’ve anticipated just how fucking often he’d run into her from that day onwards. She never failed to remind him of her resentment and, frankly, that ended up igniting his.

Of course Osamu’s leftovers are on his kitchen counter, neatly wrapped in tin foil. He remembers how hungry he’d feel after training, so when he knows Suna’s going to be busy until the late afternoon, he always makes sure to cook an extra portion.

Rintaro lets the gym bag fall onto the floor, right next to the couch he drops on with a groan. He’s already showered, he simply needs to change clothes and head out once more. When he checks the latest messages, his brows furrow in confusion.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Still at training?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Fuck, sorry, that was probably weird.  

Unfinishedusernam

-> I really didn’t mean to sound like a creep

Suna really, actually smiles at his screen. You’re insecure about complimenting him, which is sweet. He should’ve complimented you first.

crysnoopy

-> Just got home

-> You didn’t sound like a creep, I like your hands too :)

His heartbeat picks up in pace when the hand starts scribbling shortly after, indicating that you’re online and were probably waiting for his reply.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Ugh, see? Now you feel like you’re forced to compliment me

crysnoopy

-> No I don’t?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Liar. Here, if you’re sincere, compliment these.

-> [IMG_98279]

A laugh bubbles from his throat when he opens the picture of your feet in a pair of fuzzy fox slippers.

crysnoopy

-> They’re beautiful. I’d kill to have an identical pair

-> So you have nice hands and cool slippers, good to know.

Unfinishedusernam

-> You’re a flirt in your everyday life, aren’t you?

Once again, Suna hesitates. He is, clearly he is. In all likelihood, if he knew you in real life, he would be. You’re nice, intelligent, funny, someone he can easily see himself being interested in. But it’s not what he downloaded the app for, he shouldn’t wander in flirty territory, he really shouldn’t.

crysnoopy

-> Only if they own a pretty set of slippers

When has he ever been good at following judicious advice?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Knew it. Flirt.

-> Can I ask you something?

crysnoopy

-> Ask away

Unfinishedusernam

-> Why are you on this app?

He sighs. Flirty territory is easier than honesty territory. A quick glance at the clock on his kitchen wall instills a sense of urgency as he types a reply, as raw and sincere as it gets.

crysnoopy

-> I wanted to find out if I could open up to strangers more than I do with people I actually know

He really fucking hopes Osamu is proud. Let it be known that he’s trying.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Do you think you could open up to me?

Suna exhales from his nose. This is definitely not the type of conversation he wanted to have while on a rush.

crysnoopy

-> Maybe

-> I’d like that.

He waits for a few seconds, chat gone silent. Maybe you logged off, maybe you don’t know how to reply, either way Suna feels a weight lifting from his chest. It’s true, he thinks he might have a deeper conversation with you of all people. A faceless someone who sends him pictures of stray cats and nice sunsets, who makes him smile at silly jokes. He shortly wonders if you’d like to open up to him in the same way, if being vulnerable will ever be on the table. For now, he’s okay with simply letting you know.

Osaka ends up being extra motivating.

The EJP Raijin players have been training hard, religiously respecting their schedules: there’s no time for slacking off, days punctuated by a disciplined sleep routine, physical and tactical training, cool-down exercises, refuelling afternoons and evenings spent cross-training. The synergy within the team is off the charts, they have won every single practice match played so far and the excitement is palpable as the game with the Black Jackals approaches.

Their training sessions are usually shorter. Atsumu insists it’s because they’re in better shape, Suna’s almost punched him in the face over dinner.

When he’s not too exhausted, against all odds, he enjoys spending some time with old friends and acquaintances. He knows it’s going to be a difficult game, Sakusa is a pain in the ass to block and Inunaki, their libero, is very talented. But he thinks he’s ready.

As they stroll through the city when their free days or breaks coincide, Suna is sometimes hit with pangs of a sentiment not entirely foreign. Nostalgia, regret? He can never tell for certain. He misses having his friends around, being in the same place at all times, travelling less. As he thinks of Osamu currently being the only occupant of his large, painfully empty apartment, while he shares a portion of takoyaki with an ever annoyingly loud Atsumu, when he listens to Bokuto enthusiastically detail his relationship with Keiji, he thinks he’s missing out on too many things and he’s past feeling unperturbed about it.

“Shoyo says he’s very happy in Brazil, asked us to visit soon. Ya should come”, Atsumu lightly bumps Suna’s shoulder with his as they walk by the river, in search of a good viewing spot. The colorful procession carrying portable shrines is quickly filling up the boats to be paraded up and down the Okawa river. While it’s still early for fireworks, oh and bunraku performances are about to begin on different stage boats, and the air is filled with fragrances coming from the endless rows of festival food stalls. What an unexpected fortune, to be in town for the Tenjin Matsuri.

“Not gonna crash on your friend’s couch”, Suna’s peremptory tone makes Atsumu roll his eyes.

“Why are you being so pissy today? What’s up, scared you’re gonna lose?”.

Rintaro searches for something in his friend’s annoyingly familiar, limpid gaze as Bokuto snickers next to him. He finds his own affection, honed by years of joint quarrels, reflected in it.

“Rin?”, Atsumu’s worried now, head slightly tilted to the side. Suna offers a tiny smile.

“Do you ever miss Hyogo?”.

“No”, the answer comes quick, “I miss my family, I miss my friends. Yer ugly face especially. Places are just places”, he shrugs and Suna feels his shoulders relax.

“We’re lucky, we still get to catch up”, Bokuto smiles, “it’s okay to feel sad sometimes though”.

“I’m not sad”, Suna grimaces, “t’was just a question. Shut up”.

“Aw, don’t be shy! Keiji always says owning how we really feel is important”, Bokuto offers him one of his dangos and he begrudgingly takes it.

“I feel like… you should shut up”, he gruffs out. Atsumu snickers at that and Bokuto pouts. Suna doesn’t pay attention to any of them, too preoccupied with taking a decent picture of the boats. He wonders if he’ll be able to make the fireworks look as pretty as they’re in real life, to show them to you.

He doesn’t care that you’ll know where he is, it isn’t but a small part of himself he wishes to unravel for you. It’s what you two have been doing, no? Occasionally sending each other messages that go beyond jokes and memes. You now know he has twins as friends, just how much he loves his little sister, his favorite dish. Suna knows you live close to your family and visit them as often as possible, that you always bring a can of tuna in your bag should you come across stray cats on the way to work. He knows you’re scared of the dark and can’t look at blood without feeling dizzy. You’re trusting, extremely indecisive, a fierce procrastinator, you spend too much time on tiktok and are scared to death you’re not going to be able to keep those who are important to you in your life, forever. Suna gets it, really.

He hasn’t been able to say much, you opened up to him as if it was nothing and he still can’t bring himself to share much more than comforting words and feeble details. Who cares if he likes yakisoba? He hates how detached he feels from everyone else. He feels lonely. He wishes he still lived in the same town as his friends. Sometimes he goes to sleep with the tv left on, to simulate someone else’s presence in a cold, empty apartment. He misses his family, like, all the time. The thought of getting on a plane paralizes him. He doesn’t think he’s good enough at volleyball, his team may lose and it would be his fault. He doesn’t think he’s good enough.

“Taking cute pics for your mystery girl?”, Atsumu grins widely. Suna keeps a composed facade, calmly snaps a few additional shots, but internally he’s screaming. It’s his fault for expecting a twin to keep a secret, really.

“How d’you know they’re not for my instagram?”.

“You haven’t updated your feed in a year”, Bokuto points at his phone screen, sunarin profile open to prove a point. Rintaro almost snatches it from his hand to throw it into the river below.

“She’s not my girl”, he grumbles instead, “just a random person I talk to. It was Osamu’s idea”.

“It was a good idea. I’ve been trying to get Kiyoomi on that app too, you’re both so closed off”.

On any other occasion, Suna would’ve denied that and retorted with an abrasive remark. Not this time, though.

“Yeah. Trying to improve there”, he huffs, to which Atsumu’s ready-to-take-the-piss expression softens.

“Right. So how is she? Can’t remember the last time you texted with a stranger for more than a week before they were either ghosted or became your girlfriend”.

“She’s okay. I don’t know much”.

“Everyone on Matchpal is anonymous”, Kotaro fills in Atsumu’s knowledge gaps.

“She has to be more than okay if you’ve been talking for over a month”, the older Miya insists, prodding mercilessly at Suna’s discretion.

“She’s funny”, he finally concedes, “and smart. Makes opening up to a stranger look too easy”.

“Smart? Okay, ya definitely wouldn’t be her type then”, part of the tightness in Suna’s chest dissipates as his fist collides with Atsumu’s arm.

“I think that’s the point, though. You don’t know each other and will never meet, so you can admit things you wouldn’t normally mention. Be vulnerable”, Bokuto finishes his dangos and crumples up the small disposable cardboard box they came with.

“Yes but at this point she doesn’t really feel like a stranger anymore”, Suna pauses after saying that out loud, surprised by his own words. When has he stopped considering you a faceless someone on a random app, exactly? He realizes he’s given you a voice in his head. A smile he imagines reacting to his lame jokes, when he deflects tentative personal questions. He’s given you a routine, shared most of his. You don’t feel like a stranger anymore but you’re not exactly a friend. What are you, then?

“Uh-oh”, it takes a moment to realize that the teasing sound comes from Bokuto. Crap.

“And we could meet”, Suna pushes, “Shizuoka is not that big”.

“She’s from Shizuoka? Christ”, Atsumu lets out a low whistle, “does she know you live in the same city?”.

“She never asked”, if the justification sounds odd, his friends are kind enough not to point it out. He doubts Osamu would be as lenient. Truth is, he didn’t ask either: after some time, you had just randomly disclosed the information, probably because you perceived him as a very discrete person. Which, for the record, he is.

“I’m going to ask you this question just once. Do ya like this girl?”.

“No”, obviously not, “I don’t even know her”.

“Oh? But you just said she doesn’t feel like a stranger?”, Bokuto’s eyebrows shoot up.

Suna sighs. His limbs feel heavy but it’s a different feeling than the one he gets after practice, more draining.

“He’ll figure it out”, the weight of Atsumu’s hand on his shoulder feels weirdly comforting.

I don’t know what she feels like, Suna wants to say. He settles for saying nothing, as the hold on his shoulder grows tighter for a split second.

Coach is going to have an earful ready for Motoya if he doesn’t show up on time at practice, in the morning. He’s still out celebrating-drinking with other teammates, their first Tenjin Matsuri an excuse good enough to be late. Suna doesn’t mind having the hotel room to himself for the evening, a welcome novelty: he just hopes he won’t have to drag his friend out of bed the following day.

His hair is still wet, the bed way too comfortable to consider getting dressed. You, a distraction that fills his stomach with fuzzy warmth, something that for a second makes him forget why his phone has been exploding with notifications.

It’s that stupid instagram post he decided to share after a year of semi hiatus, online presence proven only by the occasional story he’d upload. Suna feels particularly caught in his feelings today, so why not post the selfie Atsumu took by the river? His comment is pinned at the top of the section, with over 8k likes.

miyatsumu brothers ❤️

Bokuto left a heart too, Samu and Kita some of their usual simple but genuine comments. Love you guys. Miss you :). It’s easy for them, a skill he wants to master as well. It’s not enough for the people in his life to simply know that he loves them, Suna wants tell them more.

He takes a look at other comments, smiling faces with heart-eyes emojis and inappropriate compliments from strangers that make him laugh. He shortly wonders what your instagram looks like. Filled with pictures of you with your friends and family, no doubt. A feed that showcases your favorite food and places, creative outfits, witty captions and sometimes no captions at all. It’d fit you.

His phone pings again.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Osaka!!!!

-> Fuck I’m so jealous, I never got to see the festival :( did you have fun?

crysnoopy

-> I did. Some old friends are in town too, we’re playing against each other soon

Unfinishedusernam

-> Your friends are also athletes???

-> Now I feel bad, this is literally how I’m spending the evening

-> [IMG_62371]

Suna smiles upon opening the picture. You’re sitting on your couch and the hand not holding the phone is doing a V sign, a lidded tray balanced on your legs, tv channel set on a show he’s never been interested in. The lights are dim, the room doesn’t seem too big but it feels so cozy. The way a home should feel. He sees a coffee table and some lit candles by the tv unit.

crysnoopy

-> Looks like a perfect evening to me

Unfinishedusernam

-> I only walked 200 steps today.

crysnoopy

-> I’m like trying really hard to find something nice to say

-> Every morning is an opportunity to create a masterpiece called life?

-> Stop surviving, start thriving?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Fuck you for making me laugh, I almost dropped my dinner

He laughs as well, out loud, then double taps your message to like it so that you know he’s still acknowledging it, despite something more urgent suddenly prompting the quick movement of his fingers.

crysnoopy

-> Hey, remember when we talked about how you’re really scared of losing the people you love?

Suna can almost sense your surprise, it’s evident in the way the little scribbling hand appears and disappears repeatedly as you probably try to think of something appropriate to say.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Yeah?

crysnoopy

-> I feel that too

-> Most days I wake up thinking I��m a bad person

Another pause. This must be the most exposed he’s ever felt and Suna is grateful your replies are not as fast as they usually are because his hands are suddenly cold, palms clammy and disgusting.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Why do you think that?

crysnoopy

-> I don’t do enough to show how I feel and one day that could make them leave

-> Maybe stability isn’t for me and that scares me

-> I get bored easily, I don't want to commit. What if what’s regular, easy for everyone else will never be my thing?

Well, that’s a whole lot of fucking baggage he just dropped on you. His first instinct is to apologize, to ask you to just forget it, deflect with some joke about having had too much to drink and being in his feels. But he doesn’t do that. Why? What makes him want to trust you with all that? Perhaps it’s just curiosity, wanting to find out what a complete stranger would think of the thoughts that eat him alive at night. Maybe he’s hoping for some miraculous solution offered on a silver plate. Or he just wants to check if he’s able to even do the whole being vulnerable thing in the first place.

Your response comes after a couple minutes and Suna doesn’t remember the last time he felt so nervous.

Unfinishedusernam

-> How did you meet your current friends?

He furrows his brows.

crysnoopy

-> Most of them I met in school

Unfinishedusernam

-> So they made the conscious decision of being your friends every single day, all this time

-> Btw getting bored easily is okay. A bad person wouldn’t be asking those questions about himself :)

-> You can always work on what you want to improve

crysnoopy

-> You make it sound too easy

Unfinishedusernam

-> Sometimes it really is tho

-> You’re not too late, you know. Tell your friends that you love them, tell your family that you miss them

Unfinishedusernam

-> It doesn’t have to be easy right away

-> You get to make your own regular. Create your new normal

Suna exhales, reads your messages over and over again. It’s oddly comforting realizing that he is, in fact, not too late yet. Why does he always think that he is?

His phone pings again.

Unfinishedusernam

-> I think you’ll find a person you’ll want to commit to

-> That’s what I tell myself after all my failed dates anyway lol

-> Remember, be the change that you wish to see on tinder

Suna snorts, heart lighter in the hotel room he sits alone in. He could get drunk on the relief suddenly filling his chest, it feels like the touch of a cool hand over a feverish forehead.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Still there?

crysnoopy

-> I’m here

How could he not be?

crysnoopy

-> Thank you

Unfinishedusernam

-> How’s opening up to a stranger feel? :)

Good, if the stranger is you. Apparently.

crysnoopy

-> Mysteriously comforting

-> How are you failing those dates? Do I have to beat anyone up?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Nah

-> It just seems the guys I’m into are never into me

crysnoopy

-> That sucks for them

It really, truly, actually does. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt as comfortable sharing something so personal over text, it’s all so natural Suna is convinced he’d be able to do that in person as well. How would it feel to meet you? Would the magic wear out, is this so easy only because an anonymous profile on a silly app?

Sure, Suna doesn’t know your name or what you look like, but that doesn’t make you a stranger. He knows you enough for the words to almost spill out of his hands, words that press threateningly against the pads of his fingers.

He’d be into you. He’d date you. That’s what he wants to say: there’s no need to know how you look or the name printed on some documents, he knows enough. It’s a weird feeling that scares him and clouds his mind for a brief moment, as he waits for your reply.

Unfinishedusernam

-> That’s sweet of you to say!

-> Last time I went out with a guy I really liked it was a disaster

-> He also lived pretty close to me, thank god he moved now

crysnoopy

-> Well, joke’s on him. He’s missing out big time

Unfinishedusernam

-> Stop being cute, I’ll fall for you

Suna takes a sharp breath. Reading the words does something funny to his stomach, something Atsumu would tease him for.

Shit, Atsumu. The game is so close. When’s the last time volleyball disappeared from his brain like that, with the snap of invisible fingers? Can he afford being this distracted?

Unfinishedusernam

-> This dinner fucking slaps btw

-> They opened a new place in my city, add that to the list of spots you have to visit if you swing by shizuoka

-> It’s called onigiri miya

Suna chokes on his own spit so badly he thinks he’s gonna die as he abruptly sits up, coughing fit that brings tears to his eyes. He stares at his screen in disbelief, sudden reminder of how tangible and close you actually are burning like a slap in the face.

Samu picks up after a few rings, it’s late enough for him to be either still in the shop or getting out of the shower.

“Hey, what’s up? Saw your pic with that scrub—”

“Did a girl come to the shop today?”, the question is uttered with so much urgency the line goes silent for a few seconds.

“My day was great, thanks for asking! I’m okay, eating dinner on your couch right now”, the fake singsong tone makes him roll his eyes.

“I’m sorry, this is an emergency. She just told me she was at your shop today”.

“Really? Did she like it?”.

“Osamu”.

He chuckles lightly.

“Okay. First, please tell me why we care so much that she came to the shop today?”.

Suna loves his friend, he really does. Sometimes he wishes he was close enough to be punched in the face. “Stop being a dick”.

“Fine. A girl did come to the shop today”, Suna’s heart almost stops, “… along with a million others”, he deflates against the pillow once again, defeated. He knows it’s something he really shouldn’t do but he still sends the picture to Osamu, slightly cropped to leave out everything that’s not useful to the investigation. The two things his friend gets to see are your dinner and a V sign.

There’s a pause, one Rintaro swears is filled by the loud pounding of his restless heart.

“I know who she is”, Osamu speaks quietly, in a tone that leaves no room for sarcasm.

“What?”, Suna’s voice comes out thin, incredulous.

“I remember her. Came in as I was about to close the shop, bowed and begged for whatever leftovers I might’ve had. She looked like she had a horrible day, so I just…”.

“Put something together for her”, as you always do.

“Yeah! I usually don’t use those trays but I didn’t have any of the regular ones left”.

“Well, how is she?”, Suna cringes at the impatience vibrating in his voice, it makes him sound desperate. Osamu hums, it’s a voluntarily prolonged sound that makes him scoff.

“She’s really sweet. Apologized a million times, left a generous tip. I think you’d like her”.

“Yeah?”.

“Yeah, Rin”, he’s smiling, “I also think you should tell her”.

“Tell her what?”.

“That you want to meet her, dumbass”.

Suna runs a hand through his now dried hair, lightly ruffles it. This feels dangerously real now, something he could grasp if he so much as decided to hold out a hand. You’re so close. There’s something else simmering underneath the fear and Rintaro recognizes it easily. It’s an almost forgotten eagerness that he’s not entirely stranger to.

“Samu”.

“Hmm?”, he’s smiling again. The asshole.

“I think I like her”.

“No shit”, Osamu full on laughs now, jovial and relieved. Despite the annoyance, Suna feels the exact same way.

Shizuoka seemed different upon his return, an endless pool of possibilities where something would inevitably remind Suna of you. He’d made peace with the fact that he had a crush on someone he’s never met and with that truth also came an endless list of associations his brain couldn’t help but make.

Texting you first, whenever he wanted, became natural. What’s more, it was almost as if you were encouraged by his newly loosened state, that one evening in Osaka opening the floodgates of something else, something different. You trusted him with your most intimate thoughts and so did he. There was no more wondering if you were bothering each other or texting at an unconvenient time. You’d once told him you felt self-conscious about that specifically.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Sometimes I feel like I’m too much

-> Would you tell me if I was too much?

crysnoopy

-> What do you mean?

Unfinishedusernam

-> You know, if I was pestering you

crysnoopy

-> You’re not too much

-> And even if you were, I could handle you :)

You were the happiest when he had told you they’d won the game in Osaka. Heck, you baked blueberry muffins (“to celebrate!”) and asked him to go get himself one so you could pretend he was there to eat yours. And Suna did: he got up from his bed, grabbed a jacket, put on some running shoes and made his way to his favorite bakery with a dopey smile on his face. He then suggested a toast and, what a coincidence, you happened to have a bottle of white wine left unopened for the longest time. The occasion seemed worthy.

And so you both ate and drank and celebrated until his cheeks felt hot and your texts started lacking proper grammar. Suna remembers how it felt, slumped on his couch, lights low and mind dizzy as his eyes blinked and blinked and then blinked again while the message sat on his screen, black against white. He just stared at it, not entirely able to discern reality from fictitious.

Unfinishedusernam

-> I wish you were here

-> I’d probly just kiss you

Suna remembers staring at his screen as a wild joy exploded in his heart and took over his entire chest, scorching and vibrant like festival fireworks. He stared at it for so long he still doesn’t quite recall if he wrote the reply or if the reply wrote itself, because the only other solid memory in relation to that moment is drifting off with an empty bottle of wine precariously balanced on his lap.

He woke up the next morning with a sour taste in his mouth, a throbbing headache and sore neck. His phone had fallen to the floor and when he picked it up, it was with a heavy heart that he noticed you hadn’t replied.

crysnoopy

-> I want nothing more

-> I’m from shizuoka too. let’s make it happen?

It wasn’t unusual for one of you to leave the other on read and it wasn’t like Suna to hyperfixate on not receiving a reply but this time, for some reason, it felt different.

As he got up with a groan and shuffled to his bathroom to take a shower, a strange feeling of dread strangled his body from the inside, his mind running a million miles a minute. Were you disgusted? Mad, that he had kept his location a secret? That would’ve been unfair, though, and you had always proved to respect his boundaries. Maybe it was all a joke, then. You thought of all that flirting as nothing short of a game, something stupid to pass the time with a stranger online. Something that wasn’t real. Worse, something you’d never want to be real, especially if given the chance to make that happen. Fuck.

Suna succeeded in keeping himself fairly busy for a few hours that day: he cleaned his whole apartment, did some meal prep, called his mom, called his sister, even called Atsumu. Your silence kept throbbing at the edges of each minute, it became so unbearable he ended up sending you a picture of an aspirin package with a funny caption, to test the waters.

You never replied. Not that day, not the following day, a week later your chat is still painfully empty. Or rather, filled with all the messages he’s sent before giving up.

crysnoopy

-> Killer headache town, population: me

crysnoopy

-> How are you feeling?

crysnoopy

-> Hey, everything ok?

crysnoopy

-> I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable.

-> I was really tipsy, I didn’t mean it

crysnoopy

-> Or at least I didn’t mean to sound so pushy.

-> I’d never pressure you into doing anything, let alone meet me

crysnoopy

-> I’ll give you space if you need it, can you just please tell me that you’re okay? It’s been three days

crysnoopy

-> Okay. I’ll be here if you ever come back.

He’s so mad at you. Weren’t you the first one coming forward with all that stuff about wanting to kiss him? Why would you disappear? He’s apologized, what else can he do? Was it all seriously worth so little to you?

Suna feels as if the days are longer now, training unbearable. Instead of keeping his mind occupied, all it does is remind him of how badly his blocks suck lately. He doesn’t pick up when Osamu calls, he’d read everything there’s to read in his seemingly inexpressive tone. He’s mad at himself, for not noticing how stupidly attached he’d become. Is it normal to miss you so badly? He doesn’t remember the last time he missed someone just as much. The world is cruel in relentlessly reminding him of you: an advert you’d find funny, that movie you’d recently discussed making a comeback in cinemas, sunsets painting the sky in orange and lilacs so similar to the ones you’d send him, a pair of fuzzy fox slippers on display in a shop window on the way to the gym.

The toxic part of his brain is ruthless in reminding him that this is why he refuses to open up to new people. That this is why he never lets himself be actually vulnerable and simply plays along: it’s because he’d be left with nothing but mockery, humiliation and loneliness.

But Rintaro doesn’t want to give that part of his brain any more solidity. What he wants, is to be proud of himself. Relieved, even. He wants to feel happy for having been brave enough to take a risk, to trust, to open up. He wants to relish in the joy that the brief encounter with you, anonymous and all, gave him. So what if you never come back or talk to him again? That’s on you. He’ll miss you for a good while, will probably always wonder what you’re up to from time to time, but he’ll be okay. You gave him much more than what you’re probably aware of and truth is, he’s grateful. He just hopes you’ll always be okay too, he hopes life will treat you well. He hopes you don’t regret trusting him with your most intimate thoughts, ever.

It’s not like he doesn’t reread some of your messages, to keep himself company. The most recent ones still have the not entirely pleasant effect of twisting his insides. He’ll have to delete that folder of screenshots eventually.

Unfinishedusernam

-> I’m so glad I stumbled over you on this stupid app btw

Unfinishedusernam

-> You’re sweet, snoopy :)

Unfinishedusernam

-> Today was shit

-> Sometimes I think about how it’d be to have you here, at the end of shitty days

Unfinishedusernam

-> Stop flirting with me, it’s working

Unfinishedusernam

-> I feel so slilly

-> can you evne like someone you nevee met?

Turns out, you really can. He just never fully got around to telling you properly.

And then, one day, Suna’s blocks don’t suck anymore. In fact, they’re just as good as they’ve always been. He speaks with Osamu on the phone, a little bummed that his friend doesn’t have another trip to Shizuoka planned anytime soon: the shop is doing great, his presence is no longer required as often.

“I’ll miss you”, Rintaro still remembers the stunned silence following his words, “come back soon, shop or not”.

The younger Miya twin paused his ministrations, hands sticky with rice, and offered a surprised chuckle, “I’ll be back. Ya can also take a train every now and then, ya know?”.

“Maybe I will. Hey, next time you plan a trip to Osaka, can I come too?”.

“Hell yeah. I wouldn’t have to endure that dickhead alone”.

He talks to Kita and Aran way more these days: when he thinks of one of his friends, he simply grabs the phone and reaches out with a text, a meme or a funny reel. It seems to make them happy.

When his mom tells him that Kaori has been relentlessly asking about visiting her older brother, Suna assures her that he isn’t too busy to accomodate her for a week or for however long she wants to stay. Even if he was, he’d make it work. His mom clicks her tongue, gives her approval for a weekend only, less her daughter falls behind her homework even more. He grins when he hears Kaori scream MAKE IT TWO WEEKENDS in the distance.

Suna hasn’t seen his little sister in months and despite their relationship being exhaustingly conflictual (they are way too similar to each other and she gets a kick out of pissing him off), he loves her deeply and she trusts him just as much. Sometimes being home without him can become a lot and it’s not like she ever directly admits it but he’s pretty sure Kaori misses him, the little gremlin.

He was already 14 when she was born and little Rintaro had faced the news of a new addition to the family (a female, no less!) with infinite crankiness. He huffed and puffed and complained about having to share a room and a bathroom throughout his mom’s entire pregnancy, then a pink little bundle of dark hair and eardrum demolishing shrieks held his pointer finger in her tiny fist for the first time and he swore to guard her with his life, forever.

Suna wakes up extra early to clean the bathroom and his room, which he’s going to give to his sister, and make it girl-appropriate. He always goes on a tiny shopping spree before she visits: kitchen cabinets are now filled with her favorite snacks, there’s a colorful set of strawberry handcream, lotion and lip balm on his nightstand, a sweatsuit set neatly folded on his bed, the expensive vanilla body scrub their mom wouldn’t get her sits pretty in the shower.

He texts her before heading out for practice, demands she keeps him updated about her position. Kaori send a thumbs up and the picture of the blurred view outside the train window.

Unfortunately, as it often happens, coach announces the team is required to stay longer than he had anticipated and Suna doesn’t dare explain that he’s actually in a terrible rush because Motoya has been playing like shit and, of course, that becomes everyone’s problem.

“Get it together, man”, he hisses, way less patient than usual. Komori pouts.

“I’m trying”.

“Try harder!”, Washio snickers from the other side of the court.

It’s not until an hour later that Suna can dash through the gym doors, already forty minutes late to the appointment his sister had agreed on in the morning. When he notified her about the extra training, she didn’t falter.

-> No worries, I’ll find the house.

The train station isn’t at all far from his apartment, a mere 15-minute walk, but Kaori hasn’t visited in a few months and she’s not exactly known for her acute sense of direction. She’d get lost in her own house if it wasn’t impossible to achieve that in a small two bedroom apartment.

“Why is your damn phone going to voicemail?”, Suna grumbles to himself in the middle of the street, torn between running to the station or straight home. It’s not dark yet but the sun has set and Kaori knows very well the one thing she’s never allowed to do is turn her phone off, especially if him or their mom are not aware of where she is.

Right as he decides to head to the train station first, he hears her voice. There’s someone taller with her, which makes the hairs behind his neck stand up right away.

“Kaori!”, he damn nearly trips over his own feet as he rushes towards his sister in the opposite direction, gym bag almost falling off his shoulder while she chats with god knows who without a care in the world.

“Rin”, she stops right in her tracks, “sorry, kinda got los—”

“Why the hell is your phone turned off?”, as if to underline his point, he impatiently taps on his phone screen a few times, another call interrupted by immediately going straight to voicemail. He only now realizes how breathless he sounds.

“Battery died, I forgot my charger at home”, Kaori juts her bottom lip out. She’s the spitting image of her brother. “I was lucky to meet your friend right outside the station”, she looks up and so does he, features morphing into a horrified expression. Out of all people.

“You… what?”, Suna doesn’t know what to say. Was his neighbor even capable of smiling like that?

“It was nothing! We had fun, didn’t we?”.

Kaori nods. “We fed some stray cats on the way here. It’s so weird that you had canned fish in your bag, though”.

“I always carry some! Didn’t you see how hungry Mochi was?”.

For the following seconds, Suna is incapable of uttering another word. It becomes weird enough for his neighbor to wave a hand in front of his face, brows furrowed.

“Suna?”.

“Yeah”, he replies on autopilot, “Yes. I mean, thank you. Kaori, let’s go”, he eyes his sister’s large, pink, glittery backpack. Hanging from his neighbor’s shoulder.

“Uh, actually”, his sister coughs.

“What now?”.

“I kinda need to use the bathroom”.

“You can use it at home? It’s a ten minute walk from here, let’s get going”.

“I kinda need to use it now”.

“Kaori”, he sighs, “it’s ten minutes”.

“I live right here”, the woman from his nightmares indicates the house behind her, “wanna make a pit stop?”.

“Absolutely not”, Suna clears his throat, “she can hold it”.

“She can’t”, Kaori shrinks in herself a little, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Fine, I guess we are making a pit stop”, he mutters and his sister exhales in relief, grabs his neighbor by the sleeve and urges her to open the door, quick quick quick please.

Suna watches his sister dash upstairs with a snort as he takes her backpack. It’s heavy as a rock. The hell did she put in there?

“You’re not gonna catch fire if you come in, you know”, his neighbor fixes him with a sarcastic glare as she takes off her shoes, letting her own bag fall to the floor.

“Sorry for the trouble”, he steps in at last, with a low grumble that allows a chuckle to surprise him.

“Don’t be too hard on her. She was panicking, I offered my phone but she didn’t remember your number. I asked where she was supposed to go and when she mentioned the neighborhood, I inquired about her brother’s name. Pretty lucky, huh?”, she’s not looking at him, busy taking off her jacket as well. Suna’s gaze softens.

“Yeah, really lucky. Thank you for taking care of her”.

“I also have a younger brother, I know what it feels like”, she smiles, looking at him at last, “one time we went to a festival without our parents, he thought it’d be funny to play hide and seek without telling me. I think I aged ten years that night”.

“She also used to run away so much as a kid. It’s in our blood, I was the exact same”.

“Doesn’t surprise me for some reason”.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”.

“I’m done, we can go now”, Kaori hops down the stairs, two steps at a time, then glares at her brother. Golden, foxy eyes narrowed. “You’re not being rude, are you?”.

He rolls his eyes but, before he can reply, someone beats him to it.

“He’s never rude to me. We’re friends, remember?”, Suna watches her wink with a smile so warm. Is that really the same person he runs into almost on a daily basis?

Astonished, he witnesses that little, usually quiet, reserved gremlin smile back at his neighbor. Then, remembering how important formalities are in their family, she thanks her with a deep bow. It’s only then that he notices them: fox slippers. Cute, pointed ears, bushy tales and everything.

They both jump when the steel water bottle hits the parquet flooring, Kaori dramatically clutching her chest. “Can you not be a weirdo for five seconds?”.

His neighbor (could it be…???) furrows her brows in genuine confusion. “I think volleyball finally started affecting his brain. Better take him home”.

“Yeah. Let’s go, loser”.

“Shut up, be thankful mom’s not here”, he fires back, fake annoyance to cover the fright that gnome’s actually caused. Suna’s heart is racing for an entirely different reason as he takes another furtive look at those slippers while pushing Kaori out the door, mind racing.

He is completely, absolutely unable to focus. Over dinner, he distractedly listens while his sister paints vivid pictures of boring classes, the art course their mom wants her to give a chance to, the latest fight she had with her best friend. He asks questions and fails to register the answers he gets, over and over again. It’s a relief when Kaori sprints to the bathroom, calling the shots for who gets to shower first. Suna is left rinsing the plates, with a brain that can’t think.

Would it be possible? You’re from Shizuoka. You have those exact slippers. You always feed stray cats. God, the fucking slippers. What are the chances?

He could call Osamu, ask a few questions. Instead, his sister’s voice keeps chipping away at what’s left of his sanity.

Your friend’s cool. I wish my teacher was that nice.

A teacher. Could kids be the wearing but rewarding humans you often mentioned?

He goes back to that disastrous dinner, desperately trying to recall how the conversation felt. What did they even text about prior to that evening? Was that woman as charming as you are? Fuck, he doesn’t remember a single word exchanged that evening. He just remembers being an asshole.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes”, from her comfortable spot on the couch, Kaori watches her brother march to the front door, then bend down to put on the same shoes he wore a few hours before, “lock the door, don’t burn the house down”.

“Where are you going?”, her brows are knit in confusion, never in worry.

“None of your business. Lock the door”.

“Sure, sure, bye”.

“Right now, Kaori”, something in his weirdly brisk tone makes the fourteen year old pause the show she’s watching, not without a dragged groan, and get up from underneath the blanket she had stolen from her brother’s room.

You’re so ready to go to bed early and declare the day officially concluded.

Work was tough, managing a new classroom of overexcited kids had proven to be particularly difficult. Between the increasing pressure from school administrators and the daunting task of creating engaging lesson plans for the new semester, you felt a heavy weariness threatening to swallow you whole.

As you brush your teeth, tired reflection staring back at you, he worms his way back into your thoughts once more. Saying that hearing his name and then seeing him again was unexpected would be an understatement: you were absolutely convinved (and thankful) he had moved. Where the hell did he disappear for over a month? Just to come back and show up like the annoying, irritating nuisance he is. One you can’t seem to whisk away.

Your date was one of the most disappointing nights of your life. Suna, the guy you had talked with for days, the same Suna who was so witty, intelligent and nice, was also just so blatantly uninterested. Bored. He didn’t even make the effort to ask about your day, eyes distant whenever you tried to initiate a conversation. And of course, because life hates you, you have to be reminded of that night every single day because you now see him every single day.

What’s more, you had failed the one person you’ve been able to feel interested in after that big, fat disappointment. Someone who just found himself trapped in the crossfire of your thoughts and stupid, stupid fears. Someone you were selfishly not ready to have so close. Someone wonderful who didn’t deserve your self-serving worries.

You’re already in your pjs when the doorbell rings multiple times, so insistent you almost trip down the stairs as you hurry, terrified that you’re gonna have to face an emergency with pandas printed on your pants.

“What the hell?!”, you instinctively step back as he leans forward, his entire weight resting against the doorframe.

“Sorry, I know it’s late”, Suna takes a deep breath but it’s not really needed. Prior warmup or not, he isn’t at all affected by the sprint through which he covered the distance between his house and yours. “I just had to… hey, can I come in? I’m probably gonna have a heart attack if I don’t sit down”.

You’re staring at him wide-eyed, completely startled.

“Yeah? Sure, come in! Is your sister okay? Did something happen?”, you’re quick to push the door closed as he heavily flops on your couch.

“No, no…”, Suna seems distracted for a moment, eyes scanning the room and zeroing on your tv, which is currently turned off. He stares at it for a while, then lets out a small laugh. “Actually, maybe it’s better if I stand up”.

“Suna, are you on drugs right now?”, the question is serious but his eyes, now fixed on you, don’t reveal any particular emotion besides genuine… amusement?

“I need to tell you something”.

The odd idea that he might be hiding a knife somewhere underneath that leather jacket crosses your mind for a split second.

“Sure…?”.

“When my sister was a baby, she’d cry a lot. I legit thought my ears would explode at some point”, he weighs the words carefully as he approaches you and, for some odd reason, you don’t take a step back. “She’d cry so much, all the time. And then, one day, I brought home a snoopy plush I won at the arcade. It became the one thing that would always shut her up”.

It feels like someone’s toppled a bucket of ice cold water over your head. Suna is standing so close while looking at you in a way you’ve never witnessed, a way so uncommon for him. You can’t focus on the desperation in his eyes and you’d never guess the hopefulness simmering behind a gaze that seems to be discovering you for the first time.

“It’s you”, barely a whisper, but it’s all the confirmation he needs. The relief in Suna’s exhale is intense as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in. Thank god he does, because your knees feel so wobbly.

It’s a weird sensation, being pressed against him, hanging onto his shoulders for support. He’s warm and smells so good, of bergamot and musk. Your brain can’t quite comprehend that he’s the person you’ve been talking to for the past months.

“I missed you. I’m sorry”, he confesses in the curve of your neck and the words dissolve underneath the thin fabric of your pjs, slowly sink into your skin and bones. “I’m so sorry”, he says again, carefully pulls back to look at you, eyes searching for any sign of discomfort. Mirth flashes across his features for a moment. “Hey, are you about to throw up?”.

“No, of course not!”, you take a tentative step back but he doesn’t trust your stability and keeps a gentle hold on your arms, “why are you apologizing? I disappeared. I should be the one… I should be…”, Suna’s gaze softens, one hand rising up to touch your face but then freezing mid-air, deciding against the risk of freaking you out even more.

“Please don’t cry”.

“What?”, you retort, “I’m not crying. Ew”, but when you touch your cheek, it’s shocking to find it wet. What the fuck.

“Oh, god. Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me”, a dry chuckle bubbles up from your throat, “listen, there’s no pressure on you. I’m sure this is a real disappointment so, like, we can pretend it never happened and just go on with our lives. I won’t—”

“Are you sure it’s you? The person I’m looking for is pretty clever”, he attempts a smile when you frown, familiar at last. “You think I’d leave my sister alone and race all the way here for a real disappointment?”.

“I think you just wanted to corroborate”.

Suna rolls his eyes, incredulous. “Well, I corroborated. I’m only gonna pretend it never happened if that’s what you want, because it sure as hell isn’t what I want. If you even care about that”.

You angrily wipe your tears, cheeks burning scorching hot with embarrassment. “I didn’t expect you to be so close. I freaked out. I’m freaking out right now because you’re even closer, apparently”.

“Are you disappointed?”.

You look at him, really look at him. His dishevelled hair, naturally narrowed eyes, the bridge of a perfect nose, full lips forced in a severe line. He’s searching for something in your gaze, with fierce determination. How can one person’s eyes be so penetrating? You feel naked, exposed. Vulnerable.

“No”, you reply, sincere, “no, I’m not”. If only you could feel the relief taking over his chest. “But… what now?”.

Suna feels as if he’s seeing you for the first time and, at the same time, it’s like he’s recovering something important, something precious. He’s already trusted you with some of the most important, hidden parts of himself. He hasn’t liked someone that way in such a long time and he’ll be damned if he lets this chance pass by. Again.

He’s not too late. Why does he always think he is?

You curiously watch as Suna takes his phone out and spends a few seconds tapping on it with a smile he can barely hide.

The familiar ping of a notification you haven't heard in weeks makes you stutter.

crysnoopy

-> Now we do this right.

[golddust-if]

you're a wanted person. that isn't new to you, but after years of working, someone. no. something is after you.

you were taught by the best, your mother, she was an amazing woman but she was too trusting and in the end, that was her downfall. you won't make that mistake. you're a killer, but a righteous one. you kill those who deserve it, the disposable.

with your abnormal abilities, of which only twenty-five percent of the population is gifted with. you can succeed in what she was never able to do, rid the world of sinners.

you work for the slaughterhouse, a bar... with a dark side; in a rowdy part of the city. your mother was the owner but she didn't pass it down to you, she passed it your younger twin siblings. she believed you were far too talented to sit behind a desk, dealing with paperwork.

you've traveled all over the world, exterminating. you've claimed plenty of people, but perhaps this time you went after the wrong one. having no other choice you flee back home, but you aren't safe there either, you never are.

play with a customizable mc [gender (male or female), physical appearance, personality, sexuality]

protect those you care about or turn your back on them when they need you.

romance, befriend, or make enemies between any of the sixteen characters. four gender selectable, six male, and six female.

decide what supernatural ability you were gifted with; telepathy, telekinesis, or teleportation [figure out how to develop it and what other ability you have]

define your mc's signature weapon, fighting style and overall skillset; how you feel about killing, and the supernatural abilities you were gifted with.

this story is rated 18+ for sexual themes, substance (drug and alcohol) use, explicit language, and violence. [more themes might be added later]

the tattoo artist [male or female] [ro] wren price – partner in crime. they've been by your side since you can remember. always with a bright smile and cheeky remarks, you can't think about how your life would look without them. though they act differently with others, more serious, with a glint in their eyes you can't quite figure out. they never look at you like that.

the bodyguard [male] [ro] theodore price – the older brother of your best friend. there's no doubt in your mind that they're related. he's protective over you, although you can't hold that against him as that's what he does for a living. protect people. he's hard to get to know on a deeper level and you can't help but wonder what's going on in his mind.

the detective [female] [ro] rori hayes – now, if you weren't yourself, perhaps you could have been friends with her. but unfortunately for you... she's extremely suspicious of you and set to bring you to justice. she's recently been promoted and she cannot afford to fail, not when her family is counting on her.

the chief deputy sheriff [male] [ro] charles butler – good ole charlie, you're acquainted with each other. he can't say he isn't a little impressed with you. but you're endangering the citizens of his city and that includes his little girl. he may not have any evidence on you but you need to be brought down, and he's going to be the one that books you.

the model [male] [ro] julien ripley – son of the sheriff. he always looks uncomfortable with his own father. he’s never talked to you before and you’re almost positive he has no opinion on you. he’s a very well known face, although you can tell he doesn’t like being stared at and overall talking to anyone. *male mcs only

the journalist [female] [ro] sloane campbell – she's fast alright and always seems to know your moves. too bad she isn't on your side. always trying to announce to the world, where you are and what you're planning to do next. good thing she's overlooked at her job, consistently being handed stories that, even you know, aren't going anywhere.

the bartender [male or female] [ro] hale/hart vaughn – a family friend, and your sister's best friend. with their tantalizing words, they don't know the meaning of being serious. they are quite insufferable and you can't seem to be able to get rid of them. you have a feeling if you did, your own sister would come after you.

the florist [female] [ro] paris graham– at first glance she doesn't appear to be anything special, but that would be wrong. she's a firework waiting to explode and you want to be there when it happens. her work doesn't suit her but you have a feeling, that being a florist isn't all that she does. *female mcs only

the apartment owner [male] [ro] nolan adams – he knows about you and what you do, but he doesn’t give off the feeling of someone who’d go running to tell. you’ve always come back to lay low at his apartment complex when you need to and as long as you pay on time he doesn’t care what you do. 

the actor [female] [ro] ophelia wylie – a face from your past, one you can’t say you particularly enjoy facing again. she seems remorseful for what she did to you, in fact she looks like a completely different person and she’s offering to help you, but for what in exchange… after all, no one gives anything for free.

the crime lord [male] [ro] louis foster – of course you’ve heard of lou, you’d be an idiot if you didn’t. he's tried and failed to recruit you and he never fails. you’ve been warned before, it would be a mistake to make an enemy out of a king.

the informant [male] [ro] vincent sutton – it’s rare to ever see him out, only ever seen accompanying lou. if you had the ability to feel fear, you’d fear him. he shows every sign of being against you, but then again, it seems as if he does that to everyone around him as well. 

the chef [male or female] [ro] mateo/melanie olsen – you see them quite often, as their restaurant is one of your favorites. they always serve you with a smile and if they do know you, they play oblivious. they're just happy to have a customer who enjoys their food.

the doctor [female] [ro] eileen yates – serene and calming, a voice who always knows exactly what to say. she may look innocent but she’s far from it, you’ve known her for years yet you don’t truly know her, for all you know eileen may not even be her name. 

the accountant [female] [ro] felix price – the youngest of the price siblings, she helps out with all the money coming into and out of the slaughterhouse. she’s always been compassionate and reasonable. you can't imagine her hurting a fly.

the rival bar owner [male or female] [ro] kinslee dean – they own a bar just a couple streets down from yours. it’s always been a problem and they’re actively trying to shut down the slaughterhouse. but they’re surprisingly level-headed and want to 'handle' this problem with logic.

the owner of the slaughterhouse [male] archer – your younger brother, he’s honestly kind of a mess. he was not ready for this responsibility but he’s trying. the mischievous boy you grew up with, you don’t know where he is anymore.

the owner of the slaughterhouse [female] iris – your younger sister, she’s always been loud and bold. but she’s changed too, she’s calm and collected. she’s trying her best to help her brother along too.

the sheriff [male] lazlo ripley – a pompous man with nothing else to do but terrorize those he thinks are inferior to him. 

DEMO [Coming Soon]

warning: this story is still under development, all elements are subject to change!!

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Idk if you remember but you wrote a small drabble where reader was konigs secret admirer and it's been eating at my brain ever since😭 would you ever consider making it an actual story?

Oh I fell in love with the concept too! Here's a part 2 to that little drabble, I humbly offer it to you with my fluffy little paws ^^

CW: 18+ smut, fluff. Nothing bad here, just sweetness. Ok maybe a tiny bit of biting and light angst because it’s König after all... (Part 1 here)

He still doesn’t know who the mystery girl is.

She likes to tease him with cute messages and a photo of her tits but won’t tell him her name or where she lives. The girl won’t come to meet him so that he can show her some love, nor will she agree to go on a date with him. She just responds to his pathetic suggestions with a bundle of emojis that are about to drive him crazy, and another message that says: “Soon!” 

König has to fall back on the bed and go to sleep with a rock hard dick and a set of twitching, lonely hands. His dream of having a proper girlfriend was shoved on the back burner ever since he joined the Jagdkommando, but now there’s a certain girl inside his head, a new, even better dream he can’t repel. The next day is no better; he even forgets what he was supposed to bring home from the store, knowing his mom will only sigh and tell him they’ll survive without some ingredient they both know is very well essential.

He stands before the butters and spreads, trying to recall what his mother wanted when he hears a soft gasp further down the aisle. He turns his head and barely catches the sight of a woman, turning in her heels and rushing down the flour section, just somewhere out of sight.

Hope and curiosity spark inside him as he leaves the butter and darts after her, calling “Hey” and “Wait” between the shelves as she flits towards the cashier in mild terror. He chases her as if he were trying to catch a thief, and the girl picks up her pace, then slows down to a complete halt… and turns.

Lovely, fearful eyes behold him the immediate second she meets his gaze, immobile hands clutching a bag of croissants and a jar of chocolate butter against her chest.

He slows down his jog and arrives in front of her with a smile, but the girl only looks more and more afraid. Even her jaw is clenched shut, the spitting image of a prey who just got caught.

“You’re her, aren’t you? The mystery girl,” he asks, trying to make it clear as day just how excited he is to finally meet her in person.

Her eyes stay wide as she blinks, the little bag of croissants crunching a bit further in her grip as she tries to shield her vital parts.

“Are you done shopping…?”

Still no answer.

She’s shy, just like he is... Maybe even more so, which is incredibly endearing: the same girl who sent him a picture of her boobs last night, the same girl who had no trouble teasing him to the point of leaking cum all over his sheets is as shy as a deer when caught in daylight. 

It’s so incredibly cute… He thought she was a seductress of the most dangerous kind, but here she is now, looking up at him as if he was some boogieman about to come and snatch her away.

His smile only widens as he looks at his little minx who just tried to run away from the individual she’s sent postcards and love letters to ever since they were kids… Who knew his secret admirer was a bashful little cutie who sneaks around the local store to get herself some sweets and snacks?

“Let me pay for those,” he gestures at the products in her hand. 

Another awkward silence follows until she finally turns her eyes to the floor and nods.

Perhaps it’s not that odd that she sent him anonymous notes and talked to him in texts and letters if she’s this timid -- he of all people should know how tough it is to walk to someone he likes and tell them he wants to go out. But he can’t help but wonder if the girl is mute, or partly deaf, or both. He wouldn’t mind. As long as they understand each other, it’s perfectly fine. 

She looks at him like he’s a god —or a monster—while he pays for her humble delicacies. She stares at him with eyes still wide while putting the groceries inside a tiny cotton bag she has with her, and says nothing when he extends his hand towards her. 

“Here. Give it to me.”

He’s trying to act the part of a gentleman to the full, and she offers the floor a tiny smile while handing him the bag. It weighs less than a half kilo, but the gesture is all that seems to matter because she is indeed smiling, shy and pleased as he shoulders the so called burden for her.

“I can walk you home if you like?” he suggests while pushing the door open for her. 

She steps out into the luminous sunlight, eyes squinting a little from the sudden brightness. Then she turns to him and says her first meek words.

“But... Then you’ll know where I live…”

“Ah! She talks,” he laughs with a full smile and watches with a spreading warmth in his chest how she starts to grin, too. She’s looking at the asphalt and her shoes but she’s smiling, incredibly beautiful and pretty, outshining even the prettiest summer day.

“Don’t worry,” he starts to banter with increasing confidence—when has he ever teased anyone, let alone been confident around a girl he likes? “I promise I won’t come howling under your window at night...”

“It’s… It’s not that,” she laughs and bites her bottom lip. “I still live with my mom…”

She starts to walk towards where he lives, and he follows, his long legs catching up with her with ease. 

“There was the COVID, and my mom is a little unwell… And with the economy… I’m still a student,” she explains while they stroll down the street.

“Really? I’m a student, too.”

“Oh…? What are you studying?”

“How to kill people,” he shrugs, cursing his stupid carefree mouth immediately. “Fuck… Sorry. That was… I mean, I’m in the army.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles.

He sneaks a peek her way, and she indeed doesn’t seem to be shocked in the slightest. Far more frightened she looked at the store when he noticed her and began to chase the poor girl. 

They proceed to talk about what he does and why, how he only just returned from a month’s training that included concealment training in the mountains. She seems interested enough in his choice of career, which he tries to make sound as striking as possible, far more intriguing than it actually is. He tries to appear a little too glorious in her eyes, fearing he won’t live up to the reputation and fantasy she has built inside her pretty little head.

What if she wanted him to be a doctor instead of a moronic soldier? Maybe she fantasized about a lawyer or a historian with whom she could have fascinating conversations… And he’s just babbling nonsense about weather meters and ghillie suits.

But her eyes are still smiling, always at him when he looks away and starts to talk with his hands. When they arrive at the little wicket gate leading up to her house, he notices she lives only about a kilometre away from his childhood home. 

She was always here, and he never knew anything about it… His secret admirer, his passionate seducer, turns out to be a harmless, lovely angel who lives right in the neighbourhood.

She takes her little cotton bag and turns to open the gate, and his hands twitch and flex. Say something clever, his mind yells, ask her out for fuck’s sake… But he needn’t worry, for his precious girl next door immediately turns back and shields her eyes from the sun while looking up at him.

“I’m sorry… I froze a little at the store. I just… This wasn’t how we were supposed to meet...”

“No? What did you have in mind for us then?”

She drops her hand back down and gives him a little halfway shrug, embarrassed.

“I don’t know. I just… I don’t even have any make-up on...”

He risks to bring a hand to her face, his thumb on her cheekbone, sweeps a little arc there to let her know she’s fucking beautiful.

“You’re very pretty,” he says, and she raises her eyes back to his, this time looking like she’s being blinded by the sun even if he’s shielding her from it.

“I really liked the picture you sent me,” he says boldly, and for the second time this afternoon, hopes the earth could swallow him right then and there. 

A pretty girl sends him one nice picture of her tits, and he has to be an asshole about it… She looks super uncomfortable, so flustered that she nearly guides her face away from his palm. 

Fuck that he’s stupid… Must he always be such an idiot and fuck everything up?

“I’m sorry... I meant to say that–”

“I’m glad you liked it,” she rises on her toes and plants a quick, flustered peck on his cheek, then turns to the gate as quickly as a whirlwind. Opens it, and returns solely to give him a bashful, naughty little smile. 

“I liked your picture too,” she says so softly he can barely hear it. 

“...Oh,” he squeaks, cheek still burning from her kiss.

“Do you want to come and see me tonight...? Mom usually drops before ten...”

“I… I… Sure.”

…

It’s a catastrophe.

His old jeans barely fit him anymore, they’ve become way too tight around the thighs. He’s put on some weight during the past few years and made sure to go to the gym every slack hour he has at his disposal, which means he’s packed a bit of muscle here and there. That, along with the many outdoor trainings, have ensured his appetite remains even bigger than usual so it’s no wonder none of his old pants fit. The only ones that don’t look utterly suggestive and wrong are his grey sweatpants, which he wore to the store today. He can’t very well wear those on a date, no matter what all those thirsty TikTok memes say...

He sighs, and grabs the black military pants he had on when he came here, pairing them with a simple black T-shirt. That’s all he has in his drawers: black, black, black, a few white ones that have some food and coffee stains on them, stains that never leave no matter how hard his mom tries to wash them for him.

The house is silent as he slips the keys into his pocket and hollers that he’s leaving. Like some lovesick, unneutered dog about to slink into the night…

“Mom? I’m going out. I… I have a date.”

“At this hour...?”

“Yeah… We’re… Going out to look at the moon,” he makes up off the top of his head.

His mom would scold him for harassing some poor girl when it’s almost midnight, even if it was her who invited him to her house. And if he’s lucky, there’s going to be a lot more action than just staring at the moon together… Not that that’s all he wants; it’s just that he’s been lonely as fuck and could really use a hug. 

Is it a crime, with the past that he has, to want some human contact? Some skin on skin memories that don’t include punching?

“My little boy,” his mom strolls into the room, looking at him with soft, worried eyes. “You look like you’re about to invade some poor, innocent country…”

“Eh… I know. All the other pants were too small.’

She smiles at him: seeing a grown man sweat like a pig before a date must be a silly sight, even more compelling when that man is your own boy. The clock ticks on the wall as she looks at him like he’s about to march off to war, his only shoes a pair of standard leather boots he’s used for two years now. He showed them some grease and a brush, managed to make them look a little less worn and torn – if he had known some cute girl back home had a crush on him, he would’ve visited a clothing store before he came here…

His mom raises a shaky hand and draws him down to kiss him on the cheek, her eyes glossy and hazed from the gathering tears. 

“I’m glad you’re finally eating enough,” she whispers with a voice that barely holds intact, and they both know why it’s shaking, why everything’s trembling; her hands, her voice and her tears.

His bottom lip is twitching too from witnessing his mom being so happy for his sake. But he doesn’t want to cry. He must stay oblivious and strong and pretend that things are finally how they should’ve been: normal and easy and wholesome and good. For her, he will never show that he’s shaking… Too many things in her life have done that when she needed them to stay stable and safe.

“Wish me luck,” he gives her a nervous smile, laughing the tears away.

“I always do…”

He leaves before his tower crumbles, slips out into the sweet, scented night.

There’s roses somewhere, roses that smell heavenly, some early jasmine too that wishes to intoxicate his mind. He realizes he has nothing with him to take as a gift for her, and cusses again. This is a fucking date, and he’s not even dressed properly; he doesn’t even have flowers to bring with him… She’s going to think he’s a nobody, some penniless freak who dresses like a crazy person when he’s supposed to dazzle her and make her swoon.

On his way to her place, he stops to cut a small branch from a flowering rowan tree and shelters it from the gusts of wind that blow from the river. The tiny flowers are delicate and fragrant, not exactly what he would’ve taken to her had he been clever enough to visit a florist before they all closed. But it’s cute enough, to him at least, especially when it’s cut from the tree that was his safe haven as a boy.

The curtains at her window shift when he arrives at the gate, and he knows she’s been expecting him, waiting for the clock to strike ten as eagerly as he.

The front door opens, and there she is: dressed far more accordingly than he; his lady has slipped into a sweet summer dress like the angel that she is. It’s bright and yellow, far from the darkness he always wears, and his heart is slowly squeezing to bits inside his chest.

“Hey,” she gives him a wide, knee-buckling smile.

“Hey,” he smiles back, marching to her door like a horny, ugly wolf. “You want to go for a walk? It’s a beautiful ni–”

The moment he arrives at her feet, the moment she sees that he’s carrying a tiny branch from the rowan tree for her, she snatches the front of his shirt and pulls him inside with a surprising amount of strength.

His forehead hits the doorframe with a thick thud before he manages to bow, and there’s a bit of a commotion after that. He huffs something akin to Oof and laughs, making the angel flit around him in a wild, flustered shame, apologizing to him at least ten times.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry! I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I’m sorry….”

“Heh. It’s okay,” he smiles while rubbing the achy spot on his head. He’s forced to sit into an old wicker chair, wide enough to accommodate his back but far too low to hold his stature. He sinks inside it like a veritable giant while she continues to fuss around him, inspecting his “wound” and taking the offering from him with a helpless, embarrassed stare.

“I’ll get you some ice,” she says before leaving him in his chair, the flower he brought softly placed on the bed. 

He’s afraid the furniture will break if he moves, so he stays as still as possible while taking in his surroundings, the soft girl adobe he has somehow managed to sneak his sorry rotten arse into. 

She has a large TV in front of her bed, a gaming console and a lot of books, candles everywhere he steals a look. The beige bedding looks freshly changed and incredibly soft, and there’s an old bunny toy on her bedstand along with another book, both loved to bits. Some houseplants on the floor appear to be doing extremely well, a small leather bag and some makeup left scattered on her desk. Rocks and twigs and dried flowers rest on her window sill, treasures she’s gathered from her trails. It makes his heart grow soft because he knows she will probably put his little offering there too. A bouquet of expensive, luxurious flowers wouldn’t have hit their target at all.

She returns with a small pack of ice and rushes to him in her flowy, blooming summer dress. Descends on her knees and brings a small towel to his forehead before pressing the ice over it, ensuring that it’s not too cold to make him uncomfortable. 

As if he could ever feel uncomfortable, seated in a wicker chair with an angel between his legs, treating his supposed wound with ice and the softest touch…

“Remember all those postcards you sent me?” he asks while she continues to look like the worst person who ever lived, simply because she was too eager to pull him inside her room.

“Sadly, yes.”

“Remember what you wrote to me?”

“Not really,” she says, dabbing the ice pack all over the rising bump on his head. “Something stupid, I suppose…”

“You told me that you love me.”

Her eyes dart to his for a while, hope and shame battling in her fae stare.

“...Oh God.”

“Many times. And then you told me that I’m cute…”

She sighs and brings the ice and the cloth somewhere in her lap. The breasts inside their soft little cell look astoundingly delicious when viewed from up here: he’s slouching in a chair and still, is able to take a rude little peek inside her dress. He slaps himself mentally for being such a goddamn pervert, but then she sighs again, the cute little peaches swelling inside her dress once more.

“That’s it?” 

“That’s mostly it, yes…”

He’s getting hard here, which is a problem. A big, big problem…

His shy admirer never notices anything, not even when he softly gestures for her to give the ice to him. He continues to press it on his forehead, trying to concentrate on the cold sensation rather than the swelling dick in his pants. 

How is he supposed to not grow hard when he knows this adorable little creature has been infatuated with him for so long? When he knows she’s flustered now, just from hearing him tease her about those silly, harmless cards?

“I kept every single one,” he tells her, only to watch how the shy girl grows even shyer.

“You didn’t…”

“I did.”

He tells her about the bullies and how they made it look like they had sent the cards, telling him no girl could ever want to be with him. It’s a sad attempt to fish for her affection and pity, words of contempt and judgement to hammer it home that he did receive those cards from this girl, he did, in fact, deserve to be loved and adored.

And then she starts to talk about how she watched him... How she went to a different school than him, but that she sometimes strolled behind him when he walked home. They shared the journey to and from school, and he was always completely unaware that he was being followed.

“You stared at this rowan tree for what seemed like hours,” she recalls with a sad smile. “Then, if a bee caught your eye, or a bird or some flower, you stopped to ogle at those instead…”

He laughs, but there’s a bittersweet stone in his chest. If he remembers correctly, these were the only times of the day he could drop his eternal guard: in school, he was being tormented by cruel kids and at home there lived a tyrant with his sad little subjects. Trees and bees and birds were a welcome distraction.

She smiles a little, but it’s not a happy smile, even if it is affectionate.

“My mom always told me to come straight back home,” she says. “But you were never in a hurry...”

He looks at her, and she looks back, some pity in her eyes. There arrives a sweet and sour pain in his heart, a feeling that comes from knowing there was someone who witnessed a glimpse of the hope and pain he lived in. That there was someone there all along… 

“You even stopped to look at dog poo…”

“Heh... Was that the moment you fell for me?”

Her lip twitches, the pity in her stare breaks. She rises a little to lean forward, and he catches her with ease as she falls there into his arms, snug into his lap. His lips find hers without effort, and sensation bleeds: his hands are sweaty and shaking as he runs them down along her dress, cups her ass so that she gives a little gasp straight into his mouth. 

That’s the thing he was pining for: for her to open that pretty little mouth so that he could pry it further open with his own. Plunge an exploring tongue inside, not too quick and not too greedy, just a little poke to see if she wants to be claimed.

The angel melts in his lap, like pure white snow, until he braces his core and rises to his feet. It’s now or never, and he’s not going to let this moment slip past his fingers. Somehow, they end up on the bed, the smell of fresh linens and her dainty perfume catching his nose before she presses a pair of weak hands on his chest.

“The flower...”

The flower... Of course. 

The flower from the rowan tree.

He huffs a laugh on her face, a relieved smile as he understands she’s only worried about trampling his gift.

It’s set aside on the table, but right after that, he attacks her again, begins the ascension to heaven. His lips won’t get enough of her, not even as he drinks her like honeydew and ambrosia: the dress he used to associate with seraphs and summer now seems like a huge obstacle between his tongue and her skin, the need to taste more of her urgent in his hips.

“Can I take this off?” He roughs a hand down the fabric that shields her breasts, relishing the tiny moan that follows when he does that. “I want to kiss you everywhere…”

Her throat makes a wet, charming sound as she swallows, her eyes now pools of dark, drunken love. 

“On one condition,” she tells him, out of breath. “If I can kiss you everywhere too?”

It’s a deal, his mind exclaims immediately, but his devilish grin is how he tells her he’s more than eager to accept these terms. His clothes find their way on the floor along with hers, black on black on yellow, but he won’t let her shiver in the cold for long. Like a man possessed, his body finds hers, her soft, naked skin colliding with his like heaven after all those lonely nights of slick, urgent fapping. 

He’s not sure who’s worshipping who here, but he vows to never again let this angel fly under his radar, no matter how perfect of a guardian she has been. A guardian angel, following him with her blessed stare, sending him heavenly messages that were real and true all along. 

She should be rewarded for her abundant gifts, and so his lips find her shoulders and her neck; they graze her nipples and claim her breasts in devouring that leaves her back arching on the bed.

“You don’t have a girl? Waiting for you back there...?” she asks shyly, even when half her tit is being sucked by his mouth.

“The only thing waiting for me back there is my hand,” he rasps while diving down, down, down, all the way past her navel and the mound she still tries to protect from plunder.

“...I can be your girl,” she whispers somewhere high above, her hands holding his head like that of an untamed dog. “If you want…?”

He breathes on the apex between her thighs, presses a furious kiss there without care. 

“F-fuck…” she sighs those thighs open, and from that point on, nothing is enough.

It’s horrible that it must be so: that he finally gets to drink his fill, and it’s still not enough. Her sighs are not enough, her trembling body is not enough. Her attempts to muffle her moans with the back of her hand are not nearly enough.

He wants more, so much more: he wants to try all there is to this with her, forever and ever until the day he dies. He wants to hear her soil her tongue with more curses as he ruins her, bit by bit, just a little bit…

“Say it,” he pants into her glistening lips, “Say that you’re my girl…”

When she does nothing but whimpers in return, he attacks her with both teeth and tongue. Bruises the thigh beside her treasure before plunging straight towards the main prize with reckless want. That’s what finally forces the words out of her mouth: his tongue inside her cunt, delving so deep he has to breathe through his nose to keep from fainting.

“I’m your girl,” she moans on the bed, a bit louder now. “I’m yours, I promise… I always… Always…”

I always was….

She doesn’t say it. She doesn’t need to. 

He grants her mercy after that, replacing the tongue with a finger or two. Slow wide circles over her clit accompanied by quick little pumps in her hole make her cum in no time, and he’s glad he listened to the dirty mess talk of his filthy comrades. Patience is not his virtue, but for her, he makes all the effort.... He for sure leaves a little memory on her thigh. It’s not very nice of him, and he fears those teeth marks might stay with her longer than just a few weeks. 

Maybe she’ll forgive him if he fucks her after this, rocks her slowly and softly, fucks her like angels ought to be fucked. But no, fucking is not the right word... He wants to make love to her. Drink her moans right from her lips while he does it.

After the climax, he’s still hard and she’s still panting.

He wonders if he’ll get slapped or kissed if he asks for permission to put it inside now... His dick is throbbing while they stare at the ceiling together, but as always, his angel is two steps ahead.

“My turn,” she says with newfound vigour, and he gets more than he bargained for: everything and more as she gives his body the same attention he just gave her. Bites his nipples a little too hard, the little minx, licks his ribs as if it’s some kind of a contest to try and make him tickle. Laughs angel trails across his skin, draws a finger down his nether hair until she meets his jutting dick.

She gives him a tame little lick at first, then slowly, expeditiously, kisses his cock from root to tip. Before due time, his thighs start to tremble, and that’s when she takes it in her mouth: sucks and licks him deep until his abs and balls pull tight. The sheet in his fist threatens to get torn to shreds when he cums, and for a moment, he forgets everything, even his name, until he notices that the poor little thing can’t swallow all his load. She almost chokes on the first spurt, withdraws to cough with her mouth closed while he hisses fat curses past clenched teeth. 

When he arrives back to Earth, there’s cum everywhere: on her face, on the sheets, all over his abdomen and his thighs, an eruption that spilled everywhere because his angel got a little appalled.

“I’m sorry,” she peeps with her mouth still full of it.

The poor girl swallows it bravely, and his heart is about to explode: his angel swallows his filthy load like a champ and looks so incredibly valiant while doing it.

“Hey,” he raises a shaking hand towards her, too weak to rise from the bed to comfort her. “It’s okay… You didn’t need to do that…”

“But I wanted to,” she complains while the thick, sticky cum drips down her cheek and onto her breasts.

“Shit… Come here,” he coaxes, and she crawls forward to nestle in the nook of his arm. 

He uses the sheet to dry the rest of it off her face. She looks up at him with that trademark seraph stare, so helpless and in love—if this is what having a girlfriend is like, then he doesn’t feel bad at all that he had to wait a little longer than most men. It was worth all the trouble and toil that he has her here now, in his arms, batting her lashes sweetly. 

“You’re still incredibly cute, you know...?” she whispers, and a mountain inside him moves. 

It’s not sorrow, nor is it yearning; it’s just sweet, simple love. The room smells of salt and sin, but there’s nothing sinful about her when she cups his chin. He knows it’s not elegant to tell someone you love them on the day you've met them, but if the one you love happens to be an angel, then isn't it a sin not to confess?

[yawnderu]

Final Girl — Slasher!Keegan P. Russ x Reader (2/?)

cw: stalking, noncon. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Your life was never meant to be a punishment.

"Are you listening?" The man in front of you asks the moment your gaze starts to drift off for the third time since you arrived at the office.

"Sorry. What did you say?" The dark circles around your eyes make you resemble a raccoon more than a human, the memories of your friends dying and their blood splattered all around the pale wallpapers. Images of nature that were supposed to be remembered as calming do the exact opposite, forever engraved in your broken psyche.

"Do you remember anything about the suspect?" The detective's voice is calm, laced with nothing but pure understanding and compassion, a man too passionate about what he does— and the man you're about to lie to, delaying the investigation of your friend's death just to save your own ass.

"Nothing other than what I've told you, sir. Everything is just so..." The pregnant pause makes him fidget with the pen in his hand, grey eyes focused on the way you look away from him, eyes squinting as you try to recall memories from that night, memories that are so painful he can see it written all over your face, making him feel a pang of guilt.

"It's okay. Call me if you remember anything else, yeah?" His warm hand rests on your shoulder after you get up, trying his best to give you a reassuring smile that is only met with weary eyes, making your way out without saying anything. There's hesitation in your steps, your heart almost beating out of your chest the moment you stop walking and look over your shoulder, briefly meeting his curious gaze.

“He had brown eyes.” Mr. Smith doesn't waste any time on adding the information to his notes, only making the guilt spread all over your insides like black mold, taking over what used to be your soul— it's all his now.

Your life was never meant to be a punishment, yet what do you call seeing the man who killed your friends everywhere you go? He's been taking over your entire life no matter how much you try to push the memories away, no matter how much you try to forget it all happened, only serving as a constant reminder that you didn't do enough.

Dreams colliding with reality isn't something new, yet your nightmares are so realistic that it almost feels like you were there. Even while you were hidden away in a dark closet, you can see your friends struggling against the much bigger, armed man, innocent bodies butchered while they were alive, a mess of limbs spread all over the rented cabin, blank eyes always staring at you, watching you run away and leave them behind.

Were you losing your mind? It all seems so real, to the point you're not even convinced you only saw your best friend die. Are you sure you didn't peek the kitchen the moment you cowardly decided to escape? The kitchen was blocked by a wall, and yet.

Cold water splashes all over your face, feeling the softness of your palm rub the skin, trying to come back to reality, to remind yourself that it's impossible to have seen the other bodies. The crime scene report is repeated over and over like a mantra, serving as a permanent reminder that you weren't there. No, not when only a body was found in the living room.

The person looking back at you in the mirror is a far cry from who you used to be. The dark circles in your eyes resemble more a dead girl walking than a real, healthy body, and perhaps that's what you are. If it weren't for the constant feeling of crippling dread and the tears spilling down your cheeks like a broken dam, you could've fooled a mortician.

The sound of your phone vibrating against the vanity brings you back to reality from your trip to Self-Pity Land, slapping some more water on your sweaty face before deciding to take a peek at the screen.

1:38 PM.

From: Ali💗

Almost there.

It's enough to make you scurry around the room, applying enough makeup to not make your friend worry, knowing that she wanted to get you out of the house just to give you a worthy distraction.

For what seems like the first time in forever, the corners of your lips tilt up into a smile the moment your friend wraps her arms around you, holding you close despite the odd stares you're getting from the people in the diner.

“Hey, you.” Her cheerfulness was contagious, to the point that even if only for a second, you get a sense of normalcy. A sense of community, despite your own feelings about the entire situation.

Your friend can talk for two. Something that you never noticed until now, listening to her ramble about anything and everything for the past hour. In a way, it gave you the chance to dissociate in peace, the words mixing together to the point they barely made sense anymore, completely entering one ear and leaving the other.

“He's looking at you.” Alina says in a teasing whisper, nudging you with her elbow. You give her a confused glance until she looks between the man and you, giving you the look.

Your gaze connects with a pair of baby blue eyes, forcing a sharp pain to cut through your soul. His eyes look too familiar, resembling the pair you see every single day in your nightmares. His entire demeanor screams ''cocky bastard'', manspreading on the seat of the table across from you, his arm propped up on the backrest.

“Awful timing, but I have to go.” Alina says with a small frown, though it quickly changes to a little smug smirk the moment she realizes the man is still looking at you. If she even notices your pleading gaze, it goes completely ignored as she gets up from the booth, giving you a strong, goodbye hug— and the stare from the man makes it clear that it might be the last one.

“Get some.” She teases in a whisper, quickly making her way out of the diner after paying for your drinks. You feel the urge to empty your stomach, yet there's barely anything there, only the slow-growing sense of pure dread the longer you keep staring at each other. Even when you force yourself to look away, you can see him staring at you from the corner of your eye, almost able to tell he has a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Leaving a halfway done drink behind, you make your way out of the diner, hoping that being out with more witnesses can save you. Is that really him? You barely got the chance to see his eyes yet you never saw his face, starting to doubt yourself the longer your tired feet drag you around the street. He could be an innocent man falling victim of your trauma, simply looking to get laid— you could probably use that, too, yet his icy stare and cocky grin is carved into your damaged mind.

“Need a ride?” A deep, gravely voice offers, nearly giving you a heart attack the moment your eyes meet his. Your hand goes up to your chest, trying to calm your fast-beating heart even when he gives you a reassuring, charming smile.

“No, thank you.” Your tone is far too polite and kind, still wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt despite the fight or flight screaming at you to flee— to get away from the man you're now convinced is the same masked man who murdered your friends.

“Get in the fucking car, princess.”

The charming smile he was shooting your way is gone within a second, his icy gaze piercing through your soul now that he knows you saw through his bullshit. Your gaze drifts down to the hand lifting a part of his shirt up, revealing part of his dark, happy trail— and his handgun.

There's hesitation in your steps as you walk to the passenger's seat, already feeling the smoothie you drank starting to crawl up your throat, almost making you throw it all up, yet you do your best to hold it in, shakily getting into his car.

“… My house's up ahead.” You purposely give him the wrong address, trying to protect your family and yourself from the deranged bastard. The ride is eerily quiet, almost making you even more nervous than if he was trying to make conversation with you. There's no music playing, no humming— nothing, other than his fingers tapping against the steering wheel and his calm breathing.

“We're here.” Maybe you're reading him wrong, but there's hints of teasing bleeding through his deep voice, his eyes shining with mirth when you step out of his truck, making your way to one of the houses. You reach the front door after what feels like minutes, your hand shaking as you think of what to do. You can hear the engine of his car still behind you, not driving away even when you told him that's your home.

I don't want anyone else to die because of me. If someone opens the door, would he murder them too? He has a gun, and the way he brutalized your friends makes it clear that he's not afraid to get his hands dirty no matter the weapon. His loud laugh makes every single muscle in your body tense up, hesitantly looking back at him, the pure amusement dancing all over his face doesn't ease your fears in the slightest.

“Come back, sweetheart. I'll take you home.” And he stays true to his word, driving back in silence, his warm hand resting on your bare thigh. You don't dare look at it, simply staring out of the window, feeling every single callus on his hand while the scenery gets more and more familiar. The black mold in your soul spreads by the second, threatening to rot you from the inside out, bubbling up into a disgusting brew as he stops in front of your house.

Your eyes briefly meet his, his pupils starting to dilate the same way they did when he was done brutalizing your friends; just like a predator who has never failed to catch his prey. You never gave him your address— in fact, you didn't say a single word since you got back into his truck, yet he still found his way to your house.

It's all starting to make sense. Despite assuming it's all a product of your paranoia, you've been catching hints of the masked man everywhere you go, blue eyes always staring right into your soul.

“Not gonna invite me over for some coffee?” Technically, it is a question, yet you both know saying no to him is not even on the table.

“Sure… I can make you a coffee.” Perhaps inviting a serial killer is not the brightest idea, yet what other options do you even have? He knows where you live and the places you frequent, you're not safe anywhere. His hand drifts down to the small of your back as you open the entrance door, hesitantly letting him back into the only safe space you had, willingly allowing him to invade your life.

“Atta girl.” What should feel like praise from an older man only serves as additional mental torture, the sound of the door closing behind you making all hope of surviving him fade away.

“Come sit on my lap.” He walks to the living room as if it's his own home, not even asking for directions, simply being able to navigate his way around like he's been here before— deep inside, you know he has. Your nose starts to sting as he sits down on the couch and forces you to straddle him, your thighs around his, allowing you to feel all the muscle.

“Don't cry…” He taunts, only now making you aware of the hot tears dripping down your cheeks, your lips trembling as he pushes you closer by the ass, pressing your clothed cunt against his hardening dick. His face is buried on he crook of your neck, loudly inhaling your scent as his starts to grind against you, calloused hands roaming all over your pretty body.

“Wanna feel my cock?” The vigorous head shake you give him is enough to make him laugh, open-mouthed kisses planted all over your neck and shoulders, not caring about leaving any marks. You can barely register the sound of his zipper coming down until he's guiding your hand to his warm, hardening dick.

You're too shaky to even do anything about it, disgust and nervousness turning into a dangerous mix, yet Keegan is a patient man. A patient man who gently makes your fingers wrap around his shaft, guiding your movements to jerk him off, getting even harder underneath your touch. Low grunts and muffled moans are spilled right into your ear, clearly getting off despite your very clear fear.

“You're doing so good, princess…” He murmurs. Keegan's free hand starts to sneak his way inside your shirt, slipping past your bra, his thumb brushing past your hardening nipple. Your brain is able to recognize that fight or flight aren't options anymore, so just like a wild animal trying to avoid a fight; you freeze.

Your shaky breaths mingle together, only interrupted by the low groans he lets out, his hand leaving yours for the first time, leaving you unsure of what to do. Despite the tears falling down your cheeks and the muffled whimpers, your hand keeps moving up and down his shaft, not wanting to die by his dirty, blood-tainted hands.

Keegan's mind isn't broken enough to not know it's wrong, yet it has been broken enough to the point he simply doesn't care. Thrown away by his brothers in arms and the marines, he doesn't have anything else to lose. No life purpose, other than to bring others the same pain he has suffered for years.

A quiet whimper escapes your lips as he moves your hand away from his cock, using his tip to move your underwear aside. His free hand goes to the back of your head, encouraging you to hide your pretty, tear-stained face on the crook of his neck, fully muffling your cries the moment he penetrates you. His dick is way too thick for his own good— stretching you open forcefully, despite the way he's actually going out of his way to make it as painless as possible.

“Shh, it's okay, kid. Just enjoy it.” He whispers into your ear, running a reassuring hand up and down your back, starting to move inside you, as if what he's doing could be even remotely enjoyable. A low, throaty moan makes its way out of his lips the moment he manages to bottom out, your body responding to the forced intrusion by getting you wet, not able to register that you don't want it.

Breaking you apart is the closest thing to religion he's ever gotten. Keegan's lips crash against yours as his hips start to thrust up faster and deeper, growing more desperate by the second despite how wrong he knows it is. He shouldn't be enjoying this, yet he's just a broken, terrible man, the little sobs leaving your lips only making him fuck into you harder.

The human body works in odd, awful ways. You don't want this, yet every single nerve inside your cunt is being stimulated by his long shaft, sending signals to your body that make it feel much better after you got wet. The small moan that gets ripped out from your throat makes him break away from the kiss, amusement written all over his face.

Keegan's forehead leans against yours as his hips rock against yours, his breath hot against your face. From this position, you're able to examine his face, taking note of as many details as possible in case he decides to let you leave, no matter how slim the chances are.

Thick, black eyebrows, buzzcut, dark scruff covering his pale cheeks. High cheekbones, light blue eyes, no visible scars or moles.

You repeat it inside your head like a mantra, trying to use it as a replacement to keep your head occupied from the knot starting to tense in your stomach, tightening up more and more with each thrust. You know for a fact you're hating this, yet your body is betraying you, coating his cock with slick.

He pulls out only to slam himself back in, dragging more pathetic moans out of your lips the moment he hits your spongy cervix. The stimulation is enough to make you hide your face on the warm crook of his neck, biting your thumb hard to muffle your own sounds the moment you start tightening up around him, finally giving in to the stimulation.

Your teeth sink deeper into your skin despite the small whiny moan escaping your lips the moment your forced orgasm hits, barely conscious enough to register the cocky laugh above you, feeling his lips connect against your temple, his breath hot on your skin as he manages to pull out, shooting ropes of thick cum all over your stomach.

“See? It wasn't that bad, was it, princess?” You collapse against him with a loud exhale, not able to hold it together anymore.

“Why…?” It's all you can ask, and you're not even sure about the reason you're asking why. Why did he kill your friends? Why did he let you live? Why is he stalking you? Why did he force himself on you? Why is he caressing your body like you're made of glass, as if he didn't just destroy you into thousands of shards?

“Because I'm not right in the head anymore.”

Taglist: @h0ney-mushroom @bangtandaze @elentiyaiswriting @lollycotton @sleepydang @billiousserpent As always, thank you so much @moosch for the amazing art!! 💗💗 world-building with her has been so fucking exciting and I'm happy to finally be writing about Slasher!Keegan after we've been talking about it for months!!<333